Allurement
by DevynQ
Summary: It's the start of the 74th annual Hunger Games, and Katniss is determined to win. However, she runs into one problem she never saw coming: the most fearsome tribute in this years Games, Cato. Will Katniss strive to win against all odds, or will she allow her attraction to Cato ruin her chances of returning to her home district? Slight AU and goes totally off-canon.
1. Chapter 1: The Gong Sounds

**(Previously _Unexpected Attraction_...I wanted a more enticing title, hence the change). Hope you enjoy, and feedback is always appreciated!**

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The thundering of my heart drowns out everything, including the sound of my breath wheezing in and out of my inexplicably dry mouth.

_Ten_.

_Nine_.

_Eight_.

The deep monotonous voice rumbles through the otherwise silent arena. It makes my body shake – not that I wasn't already shaking like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat, of course. My limbs twitch uncontrollably, and I can tell that I'm having trouble keeping still. I'm so anxious for this to be over that I know running off my metal plate before the gong sounds is becoming a real problem. But I must stay still. I must be patient. For Prim.

_Seven_.

_Six_.

_Five_.

The countdown seems to take an eternity. I don't think I can bear it. To keep myself focused, I glance over the weapons scattered in front of the giant metal Cornucopia. Just as I'm sure it won't be there, my gaze suddenly slides past the familiar object before I realize what it is, and I have to backtrack. The silver arrows gleam in the faux mid-afternoon sunlight, and the bow itself is magnificent. I know instinctively that I can kill as many tributes as it takes without worrying about it falling apart.

_Four_.

_Three_.

_Two_.

This is it. During the next few minutes, I'll either be fighting for my life…or dead. It goes without saying that I want to live, but running away without any sort of weapon makes me feel uncomfortably helpless. If only I could run to the bow without crossing any of the other tributes… But I know that's highly unlikely. Besides, Haymitch specifically warned me not to interact with the Careers during the Bloodbath. With my score of eleven, some of them will surely have me targeted.

Still, I'm curious. What if I _can_ make it to my weapon without encountering the Careers? Glancing sideways at Peeta, I see that he's been watching me. He shakes his head very slowly from left to right and back again. My eyebrows furrow, and I frown. He obviously suspects what I'm thinking and is completely dead-set against it.

_One_.

I still haven't reached a decision when the gong finally sounds. My hearing returns, and I can finally tell what's going on around me. The Careers' shouts echo around the wide clearing, and they surge towards the Cornucopia with savage battle cries. Some of the smaller tributes – like the tiny girl from District 11 that reminds me so much of my younger sister – dart away from their metal plates, aiming for cover in the surrounding forest.

While everyone else jumps into action, I stand on my miniature platform, frozen. I realize that the time to grab my weapon has passed. Disappointment – and the slightest inkling of panic – courses through me, but then I'm moving.

I skirt around two Careers who are working side-by-side to slaughter the boy from District 5 and the girl from District 6. Carefully avoiding detection, I spot an orange and black backpack on the outskirts of the clearing. My eyes light up, and I start forward.

I haven't made it ten feet before I sense another presence. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see the angry-looking girl from District 2 heading my way, knife at the ready in one of her hands. My breath quickening, I start to run faster, hoping that I'll be able to reach the backpack and use it as a shield before she can come anywhere near me.

Grabbing one of the straps, I fling the backpack into my arms and whirl just as the girl releases one of her many knives. It twirls through the air and burrows deep into the front of my new pack. Her eyes narrow with determination, and she begins to pull her arm back to try again.

But then: "Clove!"

Her name pierces the air, and I watch, still backing away towards the forest, as Clove hesitates and heaves a big sigh. Turning, she catches her district partner's eye. The boy is enormous. He is all muscle and arrogance, although even I can't deny his attractiveness. I haven't exchanged a single word with the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Career, yet I know by instinct that he's the deadliest one in the arena. I believe his name is Cato.

He gestures for her to come over to him, and then turns just before the boy from District 8 weakly attempts to throw a spear at his chest. The weapon lands on the ground about ten feet away, and the stricken look on the boy's face tells me that Cato has just chosen him as his next target.

Clove, after one final look of disgust meant expressly for me, sprints in the opposite direction. I don't stick around to find out what Cato wants from her, or what will happen to the tribute from District 8, or even if someone has taken my bow and arrows. Pivoting, I sprint into the forest, slinging the other strap of the backpack over my arm.

As I run, I realize that I forgot to watch which direction Peeta went. He could be anywhere – including on the ground with his head cut up into meaty chunks. I can't think like that though. If I allow myself to dwell on the dead tributes, I might drive myself insane. Maybe as insane as Annie Cresta, and that's definitely not something I want to deal with right now.

After all, Prim needs me.

My breathing sounds ragged even to my own ears, but I continue on, putting as much distance between myself and the Cornucopia as I can. The forest beckons, and I gladly run towards it. Even as I do, the agonized moans and terrified shrieks of the dead follow me. My head swims and my chest tightens.

_Think of Prim_, I tell myself desperately. _Think only of Prim_.


	2. Chapter 2: Intruder

I set up camp near the base of a giant oak tree. It has obviously been tampered with because the limbs reach out farther than any normal limb should. Not to mention the trunk is as wide as a small crater. Although this is evidence of the Gamemakers' enhancements, I find the tree somewhat safe. Should anyone try and sneak up on me, I can be halfway up the massive trunk before they even know I'm gone.

The items I find in my new pack are practical, but they certainly aren't enough to keep me alive for an extended amount of time. There's a water canister with no water, a sleeping bag with next to no insulation to keep me warm from the freezing cold nights, and several crudely constructed cups for eating and drinking. Two cans of dried fruit and a package of jerky are the only food I find, and although these things are not entirely useless, I know I won't be able to eat much of it before I start to get thirsty.

I haven't seen any sign of water for the three hours that I spent trekking through the forest. The air is devoid of moisture, and unfortunately I haven't been lucky enough to find a backpack with water already in it. I'll need to take it easy on the food until I find my bow and arrow. When that happens, I'll have all the fresh meat I will ever need. But, I know, locating a water source might be the most difficult task I'll have to face.

I sigh. "I do love the forest, but this is already looking bad."

Too late, I realize the cameras might be focused on me. After all, "the girl on fire" made it out of the infamous Bloodbath alive. I wonder if that's what many people predicted…or if they assumed I was all talk and no show. I hope the majority of the Capital citizens have been routing for me, although I seriously doubt it. The best way to get sponsors is to play on their emotions, and I have an idea that I haven't been doing a very decent job of it so far.

_I should've kept track of Peeta_, I think broodingly. _We would've gotten so many sponsors if the two star-crossed lovers from District 12 were working together from the very beginning_.

Too late for that now. Peeta has undoubtedly settled down somewhere, just as I have. The only scenario I can hope for is that the two of us run into each other sometime tomorrow. Until then, I'll have to rotate between dozing and keeping watch.

After all, who knows what might be lurking among these shadowed trees?

The sky abruptly darkens, and I sit up straight, anxious to learn who has been slaughtered in the massacre at the Cornucopia. The anthem starts up, and I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. The "calming" melody is anything but, although there's no way I can show my displeasure. Everything I do from now until the moment I escape – either by death or as a victor – will be strictly monitored.

I must keep that in mind.

Young tribute faces flash suddenly in the sky, their district numbers highlighted beneath the unsmiling headshots. All in all, eleven tributes have died today, no doubt as a result of the Careers and their merciless brutality. I can't help but sigh in relief when I see that little Rue and Peeta, as well as the elusive girl from District 5 whom I've already nicknamed Foxface, have all survived.

Despite the fact that my district partner is the only one I personally know, I feel somewhat protective of the other two. Rue reminds me in numerous ways of my sister, Primrose, and Foxface…well, she looks too clever for her own good. I respect that slyness, but I'm also wary of it.

This is still the Hunger Games, after all.

I hum quietly to myself as the night wears on. Birds chirp, jabberjays and a few mockingjays among them, and I smile. It's pretty ironic how those particular birds had been created and intended to be used as weapons, though in the end they ultimately helped the resistors instead of the Capital. And now here they are again, flitting about the forest, probably to help the Gamemakers spy on the tributes. How twisted.

At one point, I start to doze off. The fabricated stars above me blur together, and the leaves of the impossibly tall trees swirl into a blending vortex of greens and browns. My head lolls to the side, my grip on the knife that Clove threw at my backpack begins to loosen, and…

And suddenly I'm wide awake.

There's a muffled rustling off to my left. It sounds like someone's trying to walk very stealthily on the leaf-strewn ground and is failing miserably. My body instantly tenses, and I lift myself into a crouch. There's no light to go by, other than the stars high above, so I'm at both an advantage and a disadvantage. It's a good thing that my stalker can't see me, but it's just as bad that I can't see who or where they are either.

Or if there's more than one.

I know that if it's one of the Careers, I'll be dead in a split-second. I have no weapon, aside from a single knife that I have virtually no clue how to use. Hopefully they won't drag my death out (though if Clove gets to me first, I doubt my agony will be short-lived). But if it's _not_ them– though I don't dare believe it even for a moment – I might actually have a chance of coming out of this alive.

I can take most of the other tributes out, even with just a small knife. However, if clever Foxface or Rue's large district partner, Thresh, decides that now would be a good time to dispose of the girl on fire…well, there won't be much I can do about it.

My eyes straining in the darkness, I wait for the mysterious tribute's next move.

Surprisingly, it comes in the form of surrender. The first part of their body I'm able to see is their hands, which are as pale as the moon. That immediately rules out Thresh and Rue, but the Careers are still an option. The hands are raised almost to shoulder level, palms facing outward, as if they mean me no harm (which is downright ridiculous).

Then I see the self-important smirk.

And I know that my time in the arena has come to an end.

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**Review, anyone?**


	3. Chapter 3: Reluctant Prisoner

Cato steps out of the shadows, the expression on his face one of great amusement.

"Well, well. Looks like I caught you unaware, District 12."

"So it seems," I retort, slowly standing upright. I move cautiously, as if Cato is an animal that will attack on instinct if he senses too much movement.

He lowers his gigantic hands. "Nice little camp you have here."

_Small talk_? I scoff silently, furrowing my brows. This was not what I expected. But then, for all I know, Cato could be a master manipulator. He might be trying to lull me into a false sense of security by talking about meaningless things, and once I lower my guard, he'll lash out.

"Where are the others?" I ask, jerking my head to the side.

"Back at the Cornucopia," he replies, staring at me intensely. For a moment I consider swiping my hand across my face, just in case there's some dirt on my cheek or something. But I manage to refrain from moving at all, reminding myself that Cato is probably just trying to trick me.

And besides, what Cato thinks of me is the least of my concerns.

I take a deep breath. "You're going to kill me."

It's a statement, not a question, and yet the massive tribute pauses. There's a concentrated look on his face, as if he's thinking about something terribly complex. Worry starts fermenting in my chest, and I can feel anxiety creeping over me.

"Eventually," he says slowly. "But not yet. Not now."

Well, then he's obviously going to torture me. Either that, or Clove will. There's no other scenario I can think of that will either benefit me (fat chance) or result in my death (the most probable outcome). Either I'm dead or I'm tortured for so long that I will _wish_ I was dead.

"Is this about my score?" I blurt desperately, backing up against the trunk of the enormous oak tree. I'm trying to buy some time by making him talk for as long as I can. Hopefully he won't figure that out anytime soon.

"Score?" he repeats.

"The eleven I got in training," I explain. "Are you mad about _that_?" Not that I really care, but it will be nice to know where I rank on his hit list.

The realization dawns on his face, and surprise registers. "Of course I'm a little irritated about it, but Clove's the one you should really be worried about."

Just as I suspected; the small girl with the deadly knives has targeted me. But I can't let her – or even the mere _mention_ of her – crumble what little confidence I have left.

Taking a steadying breath, I say, "Well, you know, I could care less about Clove. A little girl with some knives? _Please_." I scoff, hoping it seems believable. "She's the least of my worries. But if you're planning on torturing me, District 2, you might as well kill me now. I'll just scream and curse and make myself a nuisance to you all otherwise."

I suppress a grin, satisfied with my bravado. The only strategy I have here is to try and convince Cato to kill me right now. I can tell that the idea of me causing trouble does not sit well with him. He no doubt wants to hand me off to someone else so that they can handle me, but if I scream and force him to acknowledge my existence, he'll probably become annoyed or even enraged.

Or possibly _both_.

A dangerous tribute entirely out of his senses will not bode well with the other Careers. He might perceive them as threats in his incensed frame of mind, and he might decide to kill _them_, too. It doesn't take someone with a whole lot of brains to see that Cato is easily triggered into getting angry or frustrated.

"A nuisance?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "I doubt that. If – and I do say _if_ – we planned on torturing you, District 12, you won't have time to scream. I can promise you that."

This matter-of-fact pronouncement – and the sincerity behind it – makes me shudder. "Well, if you're not here to kill me off, what _are_ you here for?"

Cato doesn't hesitate. "Bait."

"Bait?" I question, bewildered.

"We want to use you as bait."

_He could be lying,_ I think suddenly. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"That's just it," he says, leaning haughtily against another tree trunk. "You don't."

"Well, I'm not just going to _trust_ you," I reply, and laugh. The noise bursts out without my permission, and yet I don't immediately regret it. In fact, I don't feel any remorse for this slip of defiance at all. I _hope_ Cato's angry by my indifference.

Contrary to my expectations, he doesn't seem bothered. "You'd be stupid not to."

This completely throws me off. "Excuse me? Trusting you is about the _worst_ thing I could do right now." I let out an exaggerated huff. "You're a Career," I say slowly, as if this explains pretty much everything.

"I know that," he shoots back, in an imitation of my _you're-too-stupid-to-understand_ voice. "You actually have every reason to trust me." He takes a step towards me, and I tense up, alarmed.

"Every reason," he repeats.

"Oh?" I try to slide to the left without him noticing. If only I can get out into a more open area, I might be able to outrun him. From what I can tell, Cato doesn't have his spear on him – or any other throwing weapon, for that matter. All the better for me. "And what reason is that?"

"I haven't killed you yet," he whispers, taking languid steps in my direction. He is now only five feet away. "If I wanted you gone, Twelve, you would be. Besides," he adds, stopping a foot from where I stand. By now my creeping progress has come to a complete halt. "It's not like you have much of a choice. Either you come with me willingly, or I drag you back to the Cornucopia kicking and screaming."

I have to admit, neither of those options seem particularly pleasant.

Straightening, I lift my chin, unwilling to be taken as a fool. "That's when you'll start to torture me. I know your game, District 2, and I'm not going down without a fight." Without meaning to, my lips rise into a challenging smirk. "Nice try though."

The smirk that appears on his lips mirrors my own. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Yet," I remind him needlessly.

He nods in agreement. "The tributes back at the camp won't either. As long as you give me what I want, I won't let the other Careers lay so much as a hand on you."

I snort. "You're so sure about that?" Honestly, I have no idea where this surge of confidence is coming from, but I can't say that I don't like it. Maybe it's just my ego talking, but it's actually exhilarating to be negotiating and probing the biggest threat in the arena. This dangerous bantering makes me feel…powerful.

Pretty screwed up, right?

"I'm sure," he replies softly, and suddenly his hand is touching the side of my face. The hand that can crush someone's windpipe without trying. The hand that can easily snap a neck. I feel his finger trail lazily down my cheek before it disappears just as quickly.

I blink, disoriented.

He steps close, and my whole body goes rigid, expecting the worse. "Let's go," he murmurs into my ear, and captures my wrists in an iron-like grip. He yanks them behind my back and pushes me lightly forward. "We have a long walk ahead of us."

I keep my face expressionless, but a sense of panic wells within me, and it's all I can do not to start screaming and begging and crying for the safety and familiarity of my woods at home.

"Welcome to the Careers," Cato whispers into my ear, and I shut my eyes, knowing the next few hours are bound to be the worst of my life.

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**I hope everyone liked this chapter as well, and if you have the time or inclination, please leave a review or something of the sort! I _always_ get such a bad case of writer's halfway through any story, and I think comments help motivate me to keep writing! Thanks again :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Camp Career

When we arrive at the Career's camp, which happens to be just inside the massive Cornucopia, the sun has just appeared above the horizon. The sky flashes with multicolored hues of yellow, orange, and the occasional glimpse of blue. The air smells fresh with a mixture of dew and remnants of bonfire smoke. A pair of birds chirp indecipherable messages between themselves, asking and responding in a lovely high-pitched melody.

If this was any other morning, I would be feeling content and relaxed, though I might be rushing to put on my hunting gear. Mornings like this were rare back in District 12, and I hated to waste a moment of it.

This morning, however, is not just any other morning.

"What the hell are you doing?" Cato growls, and gives a lumpy yellow sleeping back an angry kick.

The sleeping bag shudders as the person inside snaps awake. A mussed blonde head pops out of the flaps. "Why'd you do that?" a sleepy voice demands.

"Glimmer, being on watch means _watching_ the surrounding area, okay?" Cato rolls his eyes and pushes me down on a spread blanket. "It doesn't mean you should fall asleep and endanger everyone. How can you not get that?"

The startlingly pretty girl named Glimmer huffs and shakes her head, though I notice she doesn't reply. She pushes out of her sleeping bag and folds her arms, muttering obscenities to herself as she walks away.

Cato rolls his eyes a second time as he turns to me. "One thing you'll learn while you're here," he says to me. "These people are more than unreliable."

"Great," I grumble, not expecting him to hear me.

But he does, much to my embarrassment.

He throws me a wink. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe."

I'm not sure whether I should feel relieved or terrified by Cato's words, so I allow myself to feel a little of both. After all, I still don't know him very well – who am I kidding? I don't know him _at all_ – and he can just as easily go back on his word.

Shifting uncomfortably, I take in my surroundings, absently rubbing my chaffed wrists. I'm not sure if he meant for this to happen, but Cato had been holding my wrists so tightly that I'm pretty sure my bones rubbed together once or twice. Bruises pepper the skin of my forearms.

I spot Glimmer sitting by the smoking bonfire on one side of the Cornucopia. Next to her is the girl who tried to take me down with one of her knives during the Bloodbath. She's one of the first tributes whom I've committed to memory. Clove, and she's from District 2…same as Cato. Her attitude and overall personality is insufferably arrogant, and her deadly looks seem somewhat practiced. Though, honestly, none of that really matters when you find yourself running as fast as humanly possible while she chucks butcher knives at your back.

I'm not sure what Glimmer's special talent is, although I suspect it's something just as dangerous. She wouldn't be hanging with the Careers otherwise.

Then there's Marvel, who's Glimmer's district partner. He seems capable of throwing spears almost as well as Cato. There's a creepy, invasive quality about him that I don't like in the least. I've noticed the searching looks he keeps throwing my way, but I don't say anything. Better safe than sorry.

All four of the tributes from Districts 1 and 2 are sitting side-by-side near the campfire. Most of them seem to be arguing, but I notice a small form hunched over just inside the Cornucopia. Tilting my head, I catch a glimpse of bushy brown hair and similar colored skin. My eyes nearly pop out of my head when I realize who it is.

_Not her_! I think frantically. _She_ _can't be here! They'll kill her first chance they get_. After a moment, another thought hits me. _What can she possibly do that interests the Careers_?

Puzzled, I cast a quick glance around before slowly righting myself. Cato's attention appears to be diverted, and so is Clove's, so I decide to take advantage of their lapse in attention and make a break towards the tiny girl from District 11. I'm not worried about the other two spotting me, for some reason. Maybe, deep down, I believe Cato will protect me from them.

Absurd, but I can't help thinking that way.

Bent over, I run to the opening of the Cornucopia. "Hey," I whisper. "Hey, Rue."

Her head swivels in my direction, and I almost laugh at how her hair bobs wildly at the motion. She seems momentarily alarmed, but then her whole body relaxes when she sees who it is. Her eyes widen.

"Aren't you…?"

"Katniss?" I finish for her. "Yeah. That's me."

"From District 12, right?"

I nod.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Rue slides her body in my direction. "What are you doing here?" she whispers.

I chuckle. "I could be asking you the same thing."

She shudders. "The Careers caught me and dragged me back with them."

"Why didn't they kill you right away?"

"Because they want me as an ally."

My eyebrows quirk up. "They do? Did they tell you that here?"

She shakes her head quickly, glancing over at the raucously loud group. "No. The one – Marvel, I think? – approached me during training and told me that I had to ally myself with them."

"Told you?" I repeated. "They didn't even _ask_?"

"Nope," she replied. "They just assumed I would join them. So that's why I _didn't_."

"But they don't take no for an answer," I said slowly, the pieces falling into place, "and instead of killing you during the Bloodbath, they just captured you and made you their ally despite your refusal."

Her mouth twists. "Pretty much, even though I'm more like a prisoner than anything else."

I hesitate, then place a soothing hand on her trembling shoulder. "Well, I'm here now, and I won't let anything happen to you."

Rue looks at me suspiciously. "Why not?"

I shrug, unable to meet her eyes. "You remind me of someone, that's all."

"Your sister?" she asks, almost inaudibly.

I nod slightly, and she sighs. We're quiet for a few moments, and then Rue takes in a deep breath. "Where's your district partner?"

"Peeta?"

"If that's his name, yes."

"He's…" I stop and briefly close my eyes. "I'm not really sure where he is. Far away from here, if he's smart."

"Shouldn't you two be…you know, together?"

"Because of the star-crossed lovers thing, right?" I smirk, and she ducks her head sheepishly. "It's okay. That was the original plan – you know, to stick together – but things got out of control during the Bloodbath." I sigh regretfully. "Clove came after me, and I told Peeta to escape while he could."

Actually, none of this is true. I'm making it up as I go along, hoping that Peeta – or Haymitch or Effie, for that matter – hasn't given a different story. The beginning of the Games had been hectic, and I hadn't given a second thought for Peeta's safety or whereabouts. At that point, all I could concentrate on was escaping with all my bones (and senses) intact.

But no one can know that because then the whole star-crossed lovers façade will shatter, and both Peeta and I will likely lose all our sponsors. I must keep up the charade for as long as possible.

"That's sad," Rue says quietly, watching Glimmer bump Cato's arm playfully.

"Yeah," I agree, feeling oddly irritated at Glimmer's flirtatiousness. "It is. But we'll find each other again." I pause dramatically. "I know we will."

At that moment, Marvel suddenly stands up and parts from the group. He heads our way, and I can't help but feel like something bad is about to happen.

Sure enough, he crouches down next to us, keeping his voice low. "Hey, Rue. I need to show you something real quick." He gestures with his hand in the direction of the woods. "Follow me."

"Um – " she starts, but I quickly interrupt.

"How about I come instead?" I say. It may be overprotective of me, but I can't help thinking that the reason Marvel wants to get Rue alone is so he can…well, either kill her off or hurt her in a much more obscene way.

And I don't think I can stomach something like that happening.

His mouth opens in surprise, but then a devilish grin takes over his lips. "Well, sure," he drawls. "The lovely Katniss. Let's go."

He extends his hand to me, but I pretend not to see it. "Won't the others notice we're gone?"

"Nope," he says confidently, with just the slightest edge of impatience. "Cato told them to sort through the remainder of the supplies. We're all going on a hunting trip tonight."

_Oh, joy_, I think humorlessly. He doesn't seem to be lying either. Clove and Glimmer have already made their way over to a pile of weapons and food about two dozen feet away, and Cato seems to be supervising. All his attention remains fixed _away_ from us, which is uncharacteristic of him.

However, despite the implications of what Marvel's planning to do and the fact that I could be dead within a minute or so, I can't help but notice he said _we_.

"Does that mean me and Rue are coming along tonight?" I question innocently.

Marvel only gives us a creepy grin. "Maybe, maybe not."

I swallow. "Okay then." Throwing a cautious look Rue's way, I stand up and look to Marvel for instruction. "Which way?"

He grabs my arm and holds it tightly against his side. "Right over here."

Half dragging, half…_hugging_ me, Marvel steers me away from the Career's camp. We're both silent, me because I'm trying desperately to figure out what's going to happen once we're shielded from view, and Marvel because he's probably lost in some sick fantasy.

Gulping, I throw a glance over my shoulder. The other three Careers are hard at work, unaware of our retreat. Rue's eyes are tacked onto my retreating form, something akin to horror making her face appear five shades paler than normal.

I smile reassuringly…but it doesn't reach my eyes.


	5. Chapter 5: Intervention

Once we've skirted around the Cornucopia and disappeared between two elm trees, Marvel's grip on my arm loosens, and I exhale. Before I can allow myself to feel relieved – mostly because he's no longer touching me – something slams against my back, sending me sprawling to the mossy ground. I hit my chin against a protruding stump, and instantly blood fills my mouth as I inadvertently bite down on my tongue.

I hiss, both in pain and anger. "What the hell was that for?" Turning, I spit out the pooling blood.

Marvel is looming over me, an odd gleam in his eyes. I don't like that look – it reminds me of a dead fish; emotionless, empty, detached. I cringe back, although my muscles are already tensed.

"I like you, Katniss," he says quietly, and without preamble.

He has taken the direct route – no beating around the proverbial bush with this guy. Unfortunately, I haven't really expected him to go so far so quickly, and now I'm slightly off my game.

"Yeah, well…why is that?" is the best I can come up with.

Marvel begins to bend his knees, lowering himself to my level, but I don't wait for him to get there. Too afraid of what he might do once he has me in a submissive position, I crawl away from him and leap up as soon as there's enough room for me to do so.

Giving me a bland look, he straightens and says, "You're different."

"I'm not really," I retort, inching back and to the side.

"You _are_," he insists, stepping forward as I move away. Apparently he's noticed my discomfort. "Always volunteering for those who are too weak." He pauses to lick his lips. "I like that. Self-sacrificing. Some might find it very unattractive, but I see it as…redeeming."

Unconsciously, my eyebrows rise in tandem. "And what is that supposed to mean, District 1?"

"It means," he continues, "that although you're not the best fighter or the most resourceful, there's a certain air you have about you that makes everything you do seem important. And I like important people. I like _knowing_ important people."

Trying not to appear disturbed by his psycho-babbling, I say slowly, "I'm not important. Don't you know I'm from District 12?"

"Of course I do," Marvel snaps suddenly, and I'm quite taken aback by the open hostility in his voice. "That's _part_ of what makes you important, Katniss! You're from the lowly, despicable District 12, which automatically makes you this year's underdog, and this whole love-triangle thing you have going on with your district partner – not to mention your score of eleven in training – has made you one of the most important people in the arena."

A light clicks on in my head, and I can't help but grimace. "You perceive me as a threat, and that's why you've decided to stick by me. To keep an eye on what I'm doing and to make sure I don't turn around and stab – or shoot, I guess – you in the back. Is that right?"

His eyes widen, and he suddenly darts forward, pinning me against yet another enormous tree trunk. "Oh, yes, Katniss, it's that and so much more."

I scrunch up my nose, hating the smell of his breath, which blows in short pants across my face. It might only be my overactive imagination, but there seems to be something…_fetid_ about the smell exuding from his mouth. Something _dead_.

"I'm interested in another aspect of your life, Katniss," Marvel murmurs, lowering his voice. "An aspect that doesn't involve hunting or killing or even surviving…"

I see it then, what he's thinking. The word flashes through my mind before he says it. _Pleasure_.

Preparing to ram my knee up into his groin, I glare at this disgusting excuse for a human. "Why did you originally want Rue to come with you? What were you going to do to her?"

His eyelids droop. "What I'm going to do to _you_."

Then suddenly his mouth is making a beeline for my own, and without thinking I lift my knee up as quickly as I can and with as much force as possible in this position. Marvel lets out a thin shriek and pulls away from me, staggering to the ground, his hands held over the most precious part of him.

I'm breathing raggedly, but I manage to gasp out, "I don't _think_ so, you pathetic pervert. Touch me again and I won't hesitate to kill you."

These words are scarcely out of my mouth before I realize that Marvel has regained his composure – and his footing – and is lunging toward me. I try to duck out of the way, but his sure-footedness has surprised me, and my one arm is wrenched back. A small scream bursts from my mouth before he slaps me and all sound immediately ceases.

The next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my throat caught between Marvel's dexterous hands. He is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and his face is beat red, probably from a combination of embarrassment and exertion. He relinquishes his hold for a brief moment, pulling his one hand away so that he can grip the waistband of his pants. An alarming flash of panic blazes through me before he starts squeezing again with his other hand.

I swat at him, but it's no good. " – _off_," I manage, my voice barely recognizable.

"No," he hisses, "no, I don't think I'll be getting off you anytime soon." Shifting aside the fabric of his pants, I can see a thick bulge emerge, and I begin to buck wildly, forgetting what these actions will no doubt elicit. Just as I assumed, the bulge straightens out, and it's all I can do to suppress the bitter tears in my eyes.

_This is happening on _live_ television_! I can't help but think with a growing sense of horror. _Prim, Gale…what must they be thinking?!_

I grab at his arms, trying to dig my nails into his skin, but all that does is make the wild look in Marvel's eyes intensify. I hate this, but there doesn't seem to be a way out of it. There's no doubt in my mind that this tribute will kill me once he's finished ruining my body.

In a last ditch effort, I jerk my elbow up, momentarily knocking his restraining hand away – his grip had been slipping anyway; the palms of his hands are slicked with sweat – and I use that time to sit halfway up, swinging my arms wildly, hoping I will either land a blow or scratch one of his demented-looking eyes out.

Neither of these things happen.

Instead, Marvel is suddenly ripped off my body, and I catch a glimpse of him flying through the air. He crashes to the ground with a muffled groan, and almost instantly I can see that his arm is broken. The pain he must be feeling is unimaginable…and thinking that, I can't suppress my grim satisfaction.

My neck hurts, and as I'm moving my hand up to rub the bruised skin, something snatches my hand in mid-air, gripping my fingers tightly. I'm yanked up, the air whooshing out of my lungs as if I've just been hit with a fast-flying wrecking ball. I open my mouth, but the sight of Cato's angry face glaring back at me silences any and all protests.

"Stay here," he says tightly, and I think he can tell I'm about to argue because he adds, "or so help me, I will knock you unconscious, Twelve." The last look he gives me clearly says, _Don't make me do it…because I will_.

And I know that, given the chance, he won't hesitate.

Gritting my teeth, I back away from him. His retreating form heads directly towards the spot where Marvel is lying on the ground, crumpled in on himself and in extreme pain. I'm wondering what Cato will do to his fellow ally – help him up, congratulate him on his almost-rape –when the dull reflection of a knife flashes in the mid-morning sun.

Cato grabs Marvel roughly by the neck and drags him up against a row of high bushes. Leaning him against them, Cato brings the knife to shoulder-level. For a moment he appears to be toying with it, admiring the blade's sleekness, the intricate design embedded in the tiny hilt.

But then he plunges it – without hesitation, without emotion – straight through Marvel's heart, and in less than a second his sickly eyes go blank and his bleeding body slumps to the ground.

Unquestionably dead.

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**As always, tell me what you guys think!**


	6. Chapter 6: Girl Fight

**This chapter is admittedly very long (by my standards, at least)! Happy reading!**

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The first thing he says to me is, "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

Still in shock, I watch as he casually throws the now blood-soaked knife into a patch of cleverly hidden poison ivy and wipes his hands, as if relieved to be finished with that nasty little chore. My mind swims, unable to process this unexpected change of events.

It's so completely unexpected, in fact, that I need a minute.

Without a word, I practically fall into a bed of obnoxiously bright-colored poinsettias. My legs give out, and I sit on the forest floor, gazing straight ahead with a concentrated expression plastered on my face.

At that moment, a cannon fires.

The fact that Cato has just killed someone means next to nothing to me. This is the Games, after all; things like this happen every day, every few _minutes_ for some. This violence is to be anticipated. But the fact that Cato has just brutally, mindlessly, _carelessly_ killed one of his own – one of his allies, one of the _Careers_ – is next to incomprehensible.

Cato killed one of the most deadly Careers in this years' Games to protect_ me_.

He _saved_ me.

"I don't get it," I whisper softly, unaware that I have spoken aloud.

That is, until Cato laughs humorlessly and replies, "What don't you get? I killed him. He's dead."

Just as easy as that.

"But he – he's from District 1!" I exclaim senselessly.

He rolls his eyes. "Of course he is. Or should I say _was_," he adds thoughtfully.

"Marvel was your –"

I stop myself before the word comes out. _Friend_. It's obvious that the two of them barely tolerated each other – much like how everyone seems to barely tolerate Glimmer's ditzy attitude – so they can't really be considered friends. But still.

" – ally. Marvel was your _ally_," I say instead. "Apparently that doesn't mean anything to you?" It somehow comes out a question.

Cato gives me a searching look. "I would've had to kill him eventually, you know. What's the big deal?" he asks, his expression one of annoyance. "You should be glad I got rid of him."

"Won't the others be…upset?" I don't think Clove will be, but you can't really tell with Glimmer. Yes, Marvel had been creepy, but he had still been her district partner. Surely that means something to her?

In answer, he shrugs.

Swallowing my questions – nervous that Cato will become even more annoyed with them – I look away from him. My gaze lands on Marvel, whose face is now pale and eerily vacant. His mouth is open in a silent exclamation. Clumps of dried blood coat the front of his weather-resistant shirt.

"C'mon," Cato says, drawing my attention. "I need to get back."

I nod mutely and begin to stand. His calloused hand appears in front of my face, and before I can react, he is taking hold of my elbow and propelling me up. Stifling a gasp, I don't resist, allowing him to guide me to my feet.

Unable to hold back, I blurt, "How did you know?"

He doesn't respond.

"How did you know where we'd gone?" I press. "We weren't gone for very long, so how –"

Cato claps a hand over my mouth, and my eyes widen. _I've made him mad_, I think, panicked. _He's furious now, and he's going to kill me, I know he is, he's going to snap my neck like it's nothing, and Rue won't know where I –_

"Shut. Up," he says slowly, and of course I do. "The second you left the Cornucopia, I – no, that's not right. The second _Marvel_ left the Cornucopia, I knew. Did he think I was stupid?" he says musingly, and I get the feeling that he's no longer talking to me. "Did he _really_ think I didn't know what was going on?"

I watch him silently, his hands still covering my mouth and gripping my elbow. We are turned toward each other now, our bodies close. I'm not sure what to think.

"Marvel was skilled with weapons, but he was still dim-witted in other ways," Cato says, finally addressing me again. "I knew the second he left us and headed to where you and Rue were whispering that something…_indecent _ was on his mind. I saw him talk to both of you. I saw him force you into the forest. I saw _everything_, and the fact that he assumed I was distracted…well, it makes me feel even more justified in killing him."

I gape at him.

He grits his teeth. "Stop giving me that _look_," he snaps, and I obey instantly.

Cato abruptly starts to drag me back the way we came, out of the forest and into the open clearing. Before we get there, however, I have one final, pressing question that _needs_ to be voiced.

"But why'd you do it?" I ask softly, afraid to know. "Why did you kill Marvel?"

He doesn't even slow. "That's none of your concern." However, he seems to reconsider, because he sighs and mutters reluctantly, "He was getting on my nerves, and I saw an opportunity to get rid of him. That's all you need to know, Twelve."

I accept this explanation, knowing deep down that there's more to it. There always is.

We return to the Career's camp, where not much has changed. Glimmer and Clove are still searching impatiently through the huge mass of supplies they've gathered, and it's obvious from the pissed expressions on their faces that this is a task they are _really_ not enjoying.

As I suspected, once Glimmer sees Cato, she leaps up, her eyes alighting with a sort of hunger…but not for food. "There you are! I was starting to wonder what was taking so long." But then her eyes rove over me, and she frowns. "Oh. What are you doing with _her_?" She makes it sound like I'm some nasty-smelling beetle that she's just now noticed.

"And where's Marvel?" Clove demands, mirroring Glimmer's frown. Except hers is more suspicious than jealous.

Cato gives them a curious smile. "He won't be returning to camp any time soon."

Glimmer cocks her head. "What do you mean by that?"

But it's clear that Clove understands. "Do we have to spell _everything_ out for you, Glimmer?" she snarls, throwing the knife she has been holding into the soft soil beneath her feet. "Marvel's dead."

It takes a moment for this to compute, but then… "_What_?" Glimmer screeches, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.

Cato ignores her. Instead of responding, he leads me to the opening of the Cornucopia. He inadvertently heads straight towards Rue, who cringes and folds into herself. However, when she spots me, a sunny smile shoots across her face, and the relief in her brown eyes is overwhelming.

"Sit here," Cato tells me, and he pushes down on my shoulder. With no other option available, I do as he says. As always.

Glimmer is still hyperventilating. "What do you mean Marvel's _dead_? That _can't_ be right." Although I can't see the drama unfolding, I can hear her stomping around. "How? What _happened_ back there, Cato?"

The man in question has left my side and is picking up supplies, tossing them aside, and frowning as he shifts through another pile. Evidently he's searching for something specific. He doesn't seem to hear Glimmer, who comes into view then.

"_Cato_," the blonde growls, and clamps a hand down on his broad shoulder.

Too far.

I can see that right away. So, apparently, can Clove.

"Oh, great," the knife-throwing tribute mutters. "Here comes another meltdown."

Expecting the worse, I scramble over to where Rue sits, cowering in fear. I pull her into my arms before she even realizes I'm there. I try to calm her down, rubbing her arms and making repetitive soothing noises. I'm pretty sure none of the Careers has noticed our interaction, but when I glance up, Cato's staring straight at us.

At _me_.

I look away, though not before I see that Glimmer has pulled her hand away from Cato as if it's been severely burned. Clove looks on with transparent amusement.

Cato tears his eyes away from me and swivels towards Glimmer. "Does it matter how he died? He's gone, and that's it. There's nothing else to it. You should be thankful there's one less threat to eliminate."

"But _how_?" she cries, shaking under his cold fury. "How did he die, Cato? And why aren't you telling us?"

"Because it doesn't matter," he repeats, gritting his teeth.

Something seems to occur to her. "That cannon we heard…that belonged to _him_?"

Clove snorts. "You're only just now realizing that? Oh, man, you're more ignorant than I thought."

Surprisingly, tears form in Glimmer's eyes. "He was a _Career_, Clove," she hisses angrily. "I thought maybe that cannon was for one of the weaker tributes. We all know Marvel _wasn't_ weak. He made everyone uncomfortable and sometimes the things he said were a little off…but he wasn't weak."

As she says this last part, Glimmer's eyes land on me.

And within them, I can see something click. I know it can't possibly be the truth, but somehow, in that pea-sized brain of hers, she has connected the dots and formed a conclusion. Maybe the wrong conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless.

"_You_," she growls finally, and the fire that comes into her eyes glows as brightly as the sun. I can almost visualize the angry red dots swarming across her vision.

"_Her_?" Clove says loudly, taken off-guard. But then she tilts her head to the side and looks up, as if weighing the possibility.

I haven't anticipated this at all.

Rue shifts in my arms, and I can tell she's uneasy. Everyone is staring at us now; Clove, with her usual suspicious looks, Glimmer, with a fury so extreme it's literally burning her from the inside, and Cato, with a bored expression on his face. My limbs start to shake because I know that if all three of these Careers come after me, I won't be able to fend them off…which basically means murder is inevitable. They'll kill me, and I'll be helpless to stop them.

And Rue, in all likelihood, will be too.

That's what decides me.

"It wasn't me," I say, my voice steady.

"_Shut up_!" Glimmer yells, and lurches towards me.

Rue and I stiffen at the same time, but I continue speaking despite her command not to. "Marvel was dead when I found him."

"That's pretty convenient," Clove interrupts, smirking. "Where did you find him?"

"In the forest."

"How did he die?"

I pause. "Knife wound."

"Where?"

"In the chest. Directly through the heart, I think."

"Why didn't you scream for us?"

Again, I pause. This rapid-fire inquisition is not going well for me, and Glimmer senses that. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her jaw is working up and down.

"I don't know who killed him, but it wasn't me," I reply instead, totally avoiding the question. "Why would I do that? I know one of you would kill me when you found out."

Clove shrugs. "You don't look very smart, District 12. So _we_ don't know that you would plan that far in advance."

_She's_ _going to pin this on me no matter what_, I think suddenly. _She wants me dead, and this is a perfect opportunity to get rid of me, the girl on fire, the tribute who's stealing all the glory._

"Oh, shut it," Glimmer snaps again. It seems she's made up her mind, too. Inching towards me, her eyes shine with violence and blood. "Honestly, Marvel doesn't mean much to me. But the fact that _you_ – a lowlife from District 12 – think you can kill _us_ off is just…_infuriating_. You're pathetic."

"I didn't –" I begin for the umpteenth time, mostly for Rue's sake.

But it's no use.

Glimmer lunges for me, and at the last second I shove Rue out of the way. She goes sprawling across the floor just inside the Cornucopia, a frightened shriek escaping her mouth. I'm half-sitting, half-standing when the blonde-haired maniac tackles me, and in the background I can hear Clove clapping her hands and laughing, like an overexcited toddler who's enjoying an entertaining television program.

Glimmer is screaming her head off, curses and threats and utter nonsense bursting from her mouth in a long string of fury and jealousy. She's tearing at my hair, slashing at my face, and I swat her hands away, trying to keep her ragged nails away from my eyes.

Pain flares everywhere. Clove is laughing like the sadist she is, Rue is crying and screaming in fear and confusion, and I'm shouting for Glimmer to get off me. But all the while, she claws and bites and slaps and yells, spittle flying from her usually pouty mouth.

Rearing up, I manage to knock the blonde off. Rolling on top of her, I reverse our positions. But then she elbows me in the stomach and flips us again.

We're rolling, rolling, rolling, and everyone and everything is complete and utter mayhem. I'm hitting and punching just as fiercely as Glimmer, angered at the injustice of my situation. _None_ of this is my fault, and yet I'm being blamed for it all. I know subconsciously that Glimmer's not only attacking me for Marvel's death…she's blaming her problems with Cato on me as well. Apparently it's _my_ fault that he doesn't respond to her advances. Just my luck.

Between the yelling and punching and flying blood, I find an opening. Without hesitation, I backhand Glimmer across the face with all my might. Her head rocks back on her neck, and her grip loosens. I stumble away, searching, searching, searching for –

I swing a monstrous sword around, keeping the point aimed at Glimmer, who is already on her feet. Her face is an ugly mess; cuts zigzag across her cheeks and forehead, bruises are already forming along her neck, and one of her eyes appears to be bloodshot. Not to mention her hair is disheveled and covered with mud. I'm not sure I look any better by comparison, though the blood running down my face and onto my clothes convinces me I'm probably far worse.

The heavy sword quivers in my one outstretched hand. "I don't want to," I say, but my words slur horribly.

Clove stifles another round of uncontrollable laughter.

"Well, _I_ do," Glimmer retorts, seething.

Rue's sobs pierce my heart and make what I'm doing even more dangerous. If something happens to me, the Careers will just take their anger out on her.

Exhausted, I try to keep myself awake. My body is screaming for sleep, and every part of me aches. Glimmer punched my left eye earlier, and unfortunately it's now beginning to close. I can't even imagine how swollen it must be, not even when my vision becomes watery and distorted. Scratch that; I can't even imagine what I look like as a _whole_.

A bloody mess is my guess.

"_Please_," I whisper, but when Glimmer shouts an incomprehensible battle cry, I know that I've only spoken the plea inside my head.

"Enough."

There's just the right amount of detached emotion in the voice to stop Glimmer from ripping the sword out of my hands and then chopping my head off altogether. Though of course the main reason she ceases to move is because the voice is male.

"Cato…?" she squeaks, as if just remembering he's there.

Actually, I've forgotten about him, too. How amusing all this must be to him. I wonder if he was laughing along with Clove while the two of us fought.

"I said," he drawls, as if suppressing an eye roll, "enough."

She stops moving. Clove and Rue both fall silent.

"Glimmer –" Cato starts, but the rest of his words fall on deaf ears.

_My_ deaf ears, to be exact.

My mind and body feel like two separate entities, I realize suddenly, and feeling throughout my arms and legs and face and torso cease. Blood drips into my eyes, into my ears, down my cheeks, and over my nose. Everything is silent, and the only sensation I feel is one of total emptiness.

_Oh, dear_, I think absently, and then collapse into a vortex of black.


	7. Chapter 7: Through Rue's Eyes

**Okay, I really love this chapter. Please be nice, but enjoy and critique nonetheless!**

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**RUE'S POV**

"_Katniss_!" I scream, beside myself. I know that my hysteria only shows how weak I am – at least in the eyes of the Careers – but I can't help it. My one true ally – no, my one true _friend_ – is in danger. "_Katniss_, _no_!"

The young dark-haired girl throws me a silencing look, but that doesn't stop the tears pouring from my eyes. On my hands and knees, I crawl towards the spot where Katniss lays unconscious. Her face is just as messy as the whiny blonde-haired girl's. There are black and blue marks on both sides of her neck, and her cheeks are covered with scratches. Some are shallow, but others are alarmingly deep. There's blood everywhere, and that's what frightens me the most.

Since nobody else is helping Katniss, I will.

"Wake up, wake up," I whisper, cradling her head in my lap. Her braid has come undone; pieces of hair stick out all over the place, some strands slicked with mud, others with blood. Seeing her this way is so disconcerting, my tears start to fall faster.

I hear murmured voices behind me, but I don't bother to listen in. The two girls are always bickering about something, but they don't really scare me. Much. Sometimes the dark-haired one gets this really chilling look on her face that reminds me of sadness and darkness and anger all wrapped into one, but that's only every once in a while.

The one I'm really worried about is the large boy, Cato, from District 2. Every time he glances my way, I can't help but feel like he's imagining my death in about twenty different scenarios. He seems like the type to plot and plan, then strike out without warning. He also seems to like revenge, and what Marvel did to Katniss…that deserved revenge.

And yes, I know what happened in the forest. No one told me; not Katniss herself, and definitely not Cato. I figured it out on my own.

The expression on her face when she came back with Cato was one of such total horror and shock that there is no mistaking what went down in the trees. I may be small, but even I can put two and two together.

The spear boy forced her to go with him, and once they were alone he probably tried to kiss her. He seems like the kind of person who might do that. Katniss likely pushed him away, disgusted, and when she did that, he no doubt decided to kill her. That's why she has those bruises on her neck; the spear boy tried to strangle her to death. Maybe that's when Cato found them, and maybe – just maybe – he got really angry…and took that anger out on spear boy.

And now spear boy is dead, and my fear of the arrogant tribute from District 2 has risen to unimaginable heights. He will do anything to win; I know that now. It's scary. He'll use persuasion, mockery, intimidation, threats, physical abuse…and even murder.

I shouldn't be so surprised.

Using the sleeve of my thermal jacket, I wipe some of the congealing blood off Katniss's motionless face. Her skin is so pale.

"Move out of my way," comes a steel-toned voice, and before I can turn around to see who it is, I'm being shoved roughly to the side. Katniss's head slips out of my lap and hits the ground with a dull thud.

"_Stop_!" I yell desperately. "You're hurting her!"

But then, maybe that's what they have in mind.

Cato is crouching down beside Katniss's body, and he reaches out a hand to touch her face. I realize that he's the one who pushed me away from her, and I immediately become incensed. She's _my_ friend, _my_ personal ally. No one else – especially _him_ – deserves to protect her like I do. Katniss saved me, and now I must save her.

"Get away from her!" My voice is thin, high-pitched – and so is my determination – but I run at Cato anyway. Already knowing how hopeless it is, I hit his back with my tiny fists, feebly attempting to make him move.

Cato merely lifts a hand, grabs my fragile wrist, and tosses me to the side. I land on my behind, and I let out a yelp of pain. The dark-haired girl, who is sitting close to the fizzling bonfire pit, glances over disinterestedly. The blonde girl has retreated to the sleeping quarters, inside the metal mouth of the Cornucopia. After Katniss collapsed, neither of them knew who to fight with, and so they left Katniss stranded on the dirty ground.

Maybe that's for the best. Better that they leave and keep away rather than stay and possibly try to hurt Katniss while she's unable to defend herself.

But now Cato's here, and that's a problem in itself.

"Please," I whimper.

Cato finally speaks. "I'm not going to kill the girl, if that's what you're so worried about. Keep out of my way and maybe she'll get the help she needs." He says all this without once glancing away from the still figure before him.

"Katniss doesn't need any help from _you_," I mutter half-heartedly, really meaning it but afraid to defy him outright.

"Oh, really?" he replies dryly. "How are you going to move her inside so that she doesn't get wet if it rains or if someone from another District tries to hit her with a spear?"

I gulp back my retort, knowing I've been outwitted. But there lingers a question in the very back of my mind…_why does he care_?!

"If you having anything else to complain about, say it now. Otherwise," he says softly, warningly, "go back inside."

By this point I have the good sense not to argue. Nodding jerkily, I pick myself up, hastily brush off any dirt or mud or…_blood_ that might be clinging to my clothes. My heart pounding unevenly, I scurry over to the Cornucopia, surprised to see that the sky is beginning to darken. The day only lasted four or five hours. Night is already fast approaching. Worriedly, I wonder what the Gamemakers have in store for us.

Before I duck inside the metal mouth, I turn my head, hoping to catch a quick glimpse of whatever Cato doesn't want me to see.

The massive tribute is leaning over Katniss, his shadow stretching across her body, the cast of his pale skin glowing in the gloom. His index finger gently presses against her closed lips.

And there's a faint smile on his own.


	8. Chapter 8: Ambush

**Thanks to sumthinblu, sundragons9, and "anonymous guest" Cathy (I've read and favorited RECKONER as well; it's quite good) for your continuous (and encouraging!) reviews. They mean so much, and I always look forward to reading your thoughts and opinions!**

**Enjoy~**

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When I awaken, I see the cold, gray surface of the inside of the Cornucopia stretching high above me. Someone has laid me down on top of a sleeping bag – a really soft, plushy one by the feel of it. Everything is quiet, and the air seems gloomy and cold. Shivering, I suck in a deep breath, and my head vibrates with wave after wave of excruciating pain.

"Rue..?" I whisper, my voice faint. She has to be okay. If something's happened to her – if they did something to _harm_ her – I will never forgive myself.

"She's not here," comes a hard-edged voice.

Recognizing it, I bolt into a sitting position, my eyes widening. A few feet away, Cato sits with his back turned to me, a deadly-looking nightstick – one that looks similar to the kind Peacekeepers carry around – clenched in one fist.

"What do you mean?" I ask, panicked. My heartbeat thrums in my ears, making it hard to decipher Cato's short response.

"She's hunting."

"Hunting?" I repeat, even more alarmed. Confusion worms its way into my head, and I manage to say, "Where?"

He huffs but still doesn't turn to face me. "In the forest."

"Well, what's she doing out there?" Honestly, forcing answers out of him is like pulling teeth. "And why is _she_ the one hunting? Isn't that your job?"

He acts like he hasn't heard me.

"How long was I out?" Maybe he'll answer that.

He sighs. "An hour. I allowed Rue to clean your wounds, and then I sent her off with Clove and Glimmer. They're scouting out the immediate area, searching for tributes who might be lurking close by. So if you –"

I don't hear what he says next. In fact, my brain stopped working a few sentences back. "What – what do you –" I'm choking on my words, unable to get them out around the building fear. "You're saying that Rue's out there _alone_ with the _Careers_? With _Clove_?" I shriek.

_They could kill her_! I think frantically. _They _want_ to kill her. Knowing them, they've done it already. The cannon for Rue might have already fired, but Cato's keeping that from me. He probably wants to fool me into entering the woods on my own!_

This thought propels me into motion.

"We need to go find her _now_," I say, jumping to my feet.

I start towards the giant opening of the Cornucopia, but a loud bang startles me. Ducking involuntarily, I whirl around and glare at Cato, who has hit his nightstick against the metal covering of our temporary shelter. I can even feel the vibrations from the metal-on-metal contact.

"What?" I snap, and immediately realize my mistake.

Cato finally faces me head-on, his expression hard and unreadable. Straightening as much as he can in the confined space, he says steadily, "We leave when_ I_ say we leave. Do you understand that, Twelve?"

I nod mutely.

"I'm glad." He jerks his head at the messy pile of supplies near the bonfire pit. "Go find your bow and arrows."

Without asking why, I do as he commands. It's not like I have much of a choice anyway. Cato seems to be in a particularly sour mood, and I can't pinpoint _why_ exactly. I was unconscious for quite a while, so it goes without saying that I missed a lot. Whatever is making the District 2 tribute angry must have occurred while I was zoned out.

Speaking of… "Is Glimmer still mad at me?"

Cato sheathes the monstrous sword I had used to threaten the blonde tribute. "Probably."

I grit my teeth. "She's mad at me for something I didn't do…not that it matters now, of course. I'm definitely on her hit list, right?" I pause, taking Cato's stubborn silence as a _yes_. "Wonderful." Slinging my cache of arrows over my right shoulder, I roll my eyes. That girl is such a drama queen.

Grasping the bow, I study it briefly, surprised at how light it feels. I have to admit, the Gamemakers did an excellent job in crafting this weapon.

"You ready?"

I nod, resorting to silence. Obviously he's not in the mood to talk – or do anything, really, except maybe brood – so I follow quietly behind him as we make our way into the shadowy forest. I wonder how far away Rue and the others are, and if the two Career girls have done anything to the tiny District 11 tribute. _They better not have so much as touched her_, I think angrily, my grip tightening on the sleek bow. _I've allowed them to bully me around ever since I arrived, but this is the one thing I will _not_ stand for._

As we trudge through the dark – well, _Cato_ trudges…I basically balance on the balls of my feet – a tree blooming with rainbow-colored flowers appears on our left, and I'm so busy staring at it that I don't notice the thick root sticking above ground until I'm practically on top of it. My foot connects with it _hard_, and I stagger forward, knowing that a fall is inevitable.

That is, until Cato reaches out to steady me. "Watch where you're going," he snaps.

"_Okay_," I say back nastily. And then, once I realize he's still touching me, "Get off! I don't need your help."

"Fine," he spits. "Next time I'll let you fall on your face. How about that?"

Instead of waiting for a reply, he brushes past me. Stone-faced, I follow again, hoping we'll run into the others soon.

My prayers are answered only seconds later. Several dozen feet to our left, I can hear raucous laughs and challenging taunts. Knowing that nobody would ever act that way in the arena except a group of carefree Careers, I swerve towards them.

We meet on a slight uprising.

"_There_ you are," Clove says to Cato, giving him a fierce grin. "It's about time. Oh," she adds, raising an eyebrow when her gaze lands on me. "Look who's awake."

Glimmer sniffs. "Unfortunately." Pouting, she steps slowly near Cato. "Why didn't you get rid of her for me, Cato?"

He ignores her sultry tone and fluttering eyelashes. "Find anyone yet?" he asks his district partner.

"Nope. But we will soon. I can feel it," Clove mutters, her eyes shining brightly.

My attention is mostly on Rue, so I don't really pay any mind to what the Careers are discussing. I assess her without being too obvious about it, and the relief that I feel when I see that she's perfectly okay is somewhat exhausting. I haven't actually _slept_ in at least a day, and all this action and emotion is making me tired and clumsy.

Pulling Rue a few feet away from the trio of Careers, I yank her into a one-armed hug. "I'm so glad you're safe," I whisper into her frizzy brown hair, which seems to have grown even more wild during the humid afternoon.

"You too," she replies, her voice muffled by my jacket.

"What have you been doing while I was out?" I ask, stepping back to let her breathe.

She shrugs. "Hunting, basically. Or, well, wandering around until Cato showed up. The girls just bickered about stupid things." She narrows her eyes. "They don't seem to know what to do when Cato's not around to guide them."

"Really? But Clove seems like she has it together."

"Appearances can be disillusioning," she says solemnly.

I blink. "O – okay."

But then her subdued air vanishes, and she smiles. My lips curve in response, but before I can open my mouth, a heavy hand latches onto my shoulder. I tense.

"Coming?" Cato says, his lips close to my ear.

Not trusting my voice, I nod again. Casting my eyes over to Rue, I see that she looks just as frightened. Yet there's something else there, too. Something…_curious_. But the look is gone before I have a chance to analyze it.

Trampling through the still forest, the Careers croon and shout for other tributes to show themselves. They sing, they laugh, they basically do everything that makes them a complete nuisance to the both of us. We linger in the background, scanning the area every so often with watchful eyes. We both know that if someone attacks us – although we don't think anyone will with the Careers so close by – they will aim for us first. We're the weak links, the ones without any advanced training or obvious physical stamina.

That's why I keep a close eye on our surroundings, but an even closer eye on Rue.

"Do you think we'll find anyone tonight?" she asks in hushed voice.

"If the Careers are persistent…yes. But if they grow tired of searching – which I suspect they will – they'll stop and return to the Cornucopia."

She nods.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She glances at me. "Are you?"

I jerk my head in a bad imitation of a nod, surprised by the transparent curiosity in her soft voice. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well…" she begins, and I have a feeling I'll regret asking. "It's just that...something seems a little off."

"With me?" I clarify, deciding to play along.

"Yes." A deliberate pause. "And with Cato."

This time, I stop altogether. "_What_?!"

"Shh!" she hisses, clapping a hand over my mouth. She glances at the deadly threesome, who are arguing in obnoxious voices up ahead. "Not so loud." Once I've calmed down, she continues. "I just feel like you and Cato have something going on between the two of you."

"We really don't, Rue. I mean, c'mon," I retort, trying to laugh. "That's absurd."

"Is it?"

I immediately become sober at her calm – and suspiciously inquisitive – tone. "Yes. Why would you think that? Cato doesn't have emotions, remember? Other than murderous ones, I mean."

She shrugs. "Okay, if that's what you want to believe."

"That's not what I _believe_, Rue. It's the _truth_," I say, indignant. Barely acknowledging the fact that the Careers are no more than faint dots highlighted by the moon, I place my hands on my hips. "Cato's a killing machine, and all he does is anger and frighten me. Have you forgotten that he's going to kill the two of us once we become useless to him?"

"No, I haven't forgotten that," she says through gritted teeth, annoyed.

"Well, neither have I. So get those disturbing thoughts out of your head, okay?" To show the girl I mean no ill will, I give her head a nice little pat, which she tries to dodge.

"Hey, cut it out!" she yells, giggling despite herself.

I'm smiling dopily when the bushes to our left rustle and a tree branch cracks. Every emotion I've been feeling for the past ten minutes – confusion, disgust, surprise, bemusement – vanishes, and dread takes over. I'm suddenly aware of how loud my heartbeat is.

Shielding Rue, I whisper, "Did you hear that?"

I can hear her start to inhale to answer me, but two things happen simultaneously: one of the Careers shouts something incomprehensible, though I can tell by their tone of voice that they've finally noticed Rue and I are missing.

But I have no time to ponder what our punishment will be for deserting them, because several pairs of thundering feet and shrill voices and muffled exclamations draw my attention. These are human noises, and they must belong to the tributes Cato and the others have been searching for. Looks like they found us instead.

_Us_ being me and Rue.

The tributes burst out from behind trees and bushes and tall weeds, holding weapons high above their heads. Before I know what's happening, they're charging at us.

Only one word comes to mind, and I say it aloud, as if to make it real.

"Ambush."

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**Dramatic, right? Tell me what you think and blah blah blah (you all know the drill).**


	9. Chapter 9: Devastation

**Warning: the end of this chapter may cause uncontrollable bouts of sobbing.**

**...Enjoy!**

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"_Rue_!" I scream, reaching out for her blindly. My hand thankfully catches hold of her thin wrist, and I pull her towards me. We bump into each other. "Stay close!"

I shakily grip my bow tightly in one hand, knowing that if I lose it in the dark the tributes will finish me in seconds. Right now, this weapon is my lifeline. I can hear Rue grappling for the knife she has stuck into the waistband of her pants. It's one that Clove "generously" lent her while they waited for me and Cato to join them.

"Katniss," she yells, "we have to –" But then she's yanked roughly away from me, and her words become lost in the chaos that follows.

Someone leaps onto my back, and I stumble forward, startled by the sudden increase in weight. Bucking, I try to throw them off, but it's a useless attempt. She – I can tell it's a girl now, by the length of the hair – has a firm hold on my shoulders. Desperate, I back up against a tree, crushing the air out of her lungs.

"Get _off_," I snarl, and elbow the tribute in the stomach.

Gasping, she crumples to the mossy floor, clutching her chest.

In a instant, I have my bow held straight out in front of me, an arrow notched. I hesitate a moment, unsure, but then Rue screams my name…and I release the arrow. It shoots through the tribute's neck. She's already gone when she hits the ground. By the dim light filtering through the leaves, I glimpse the number 7 etched on the back of the girl's shirt.

I swing around, aiming for heads and chests. A few hundred yards away I see a hulking form making a beeline for me, and something inside me quivers. There's no mistaking that cocoa-colored skin and those dark, emotionless eyes; it's Thresh, Rue's partner from District 11. I wonder if she knows he's here. In fact, I wonder who _else_ might be here…Peeta? the District 4 tributes? maybe even Foxface? I won't know for sure because it's so dark; besides, everyone is moving too quickly for me to pick out small details.

That is, I won't know for sure unless I _kill_ them, which seems like a distinct possibility. I feel like shooting anything that moves, human or not. The trees themselves sway threatening.

Reacting swifter than I thought possible, I leap to the side just as Thresh swings a spiked mace at my head. A terrified squeak escapes me. I still have my arrow in position, but there's not much I can do while I dodge and run and stumble my way through the forest. I can't hear Rue anymore, and that scares me. What if she's –?

As if on cue, an agonized scream pierces the air…a decidedly _feminine_ scream.

Tensing, I strain my ears and whirl in every direction, scanning. My eyes land on a small, dark-haired girl with a knife in both hands. My bow swivels in her direction involuntarily, and it takes me a long moment to realize that the girl I'm looking at is _Clove_. I've almost forgotten about the Careers, which is really saying something. I usually keep an eye (and ear) focused on them at all times; otherwise, they might stab me in the back.

Clove catches my eye and nods.

I open my mouth to ask her if she's seen Rue when I sense something flying through the air behind me. My body moves before my mind comprehends what's happening. I drop to the ground, sprawling unceremoniously into a patch of wriggling weeds. Thresh's mace soars over my head and buries into a tree trunk. The tree itself shivers, as if it has felt the blow emotionally as well as physically, and begins tipping to the side. Ear-splitting cracks rip through the air, sounding like tiny bursts of thunder.

A thought flickers through my head – _what's his problem? why does he want to kill me so bad_? – and then it's gone, pushed out by other, more important thoughts.

I'm on my feet in an instant, running around the base of the falling tree. Somehow I know where Rue is…and if I don't get there soon – meaning within the next few seconds – she's going to be crushed. I make it to the area where we were originally attacked.

There, fifteen feet in front of me and in the direct path of the collapsing tree, is Rue.

She's covered in blood and dirt, and across her forehead are four straight lines that are oozing even _more_ blood. Knife wounds. My mind flashes briefly to Clove – could she have done this while I was preoccupied? – but I know that moving is more important than thinking right now.

"_Rue_!" I shout, heedless of the tributes battling around us. "_Move, Rue_!" In the back of my head I'm aware that Glimmer and Cato and Clove are fighting somewhere inside this mass of people, and that Thresh is lurking nearby, hunting for me. He might pop up at any moment, but then, so could Cato.

"Katniss?" comes a voice…one that doesn't belong to Rue.

I turn to my right, and there, hiding among the shadows, is Peeta. He's holding a lumpy, obviously handmade trident, and his face is covered with dirt. His pupils are dilated, and he seems jumpy, like a scared rabbit.

"Are you part of this?" I ask loudly, momentarily forgetting about Rue.

Guilt flickers across his face, and I know then that it's true. Whether he meant to attack _me_ specifically is still questionable though.

"Have you known that I'm with the Careers?"

He shakes his head quickly, dodging a stray knife that flies past his head and disappears into a bed of wildflowers. "No, Katniss, I swear. The seven of us – me, Thresh, both tributes from District 7 and 10, and the girl tribute from District 5 – meant to go after the Careers. I had no idea you and Rue were…allying yourselves with them."

"We're not allies," I shout as a chorus of screams interrupts us. Sounds like the girl from District 10. "They're keeping us captive!" _How can he possibly think I would _ever_ fight alongside those monsters on my own_? I rage silently. _He thinks so little of me_.

Peeta blinks. "You're not?"

"No!" Catching a blur of motion out of the corner of my eye, I slide to my left and whip my bow into firing position. I can't rightly see who it is, but that doesn't matter – I can tell just by gauging the tribute's height that it's not Rue. One by one, I take my fingers off the quiver until the arrow is released. The tribute falls to the ground with the tail end sticking out of their chest.

"Then come with us!" Peeta looks frantic. "We need you, Katniss. _I_ need–"

His terrified eyes have shifted to my left, but the split-second warning is unnecessary; I'm way ahead of him. Thresh jumps into the clearing, roars, and swings the mace at me. I cringe as it passes through a cluster of dead trees and into Foxface's lower left leg. The red-haired tribute cries out and drops to the ground, pressing her hand against the possibly life-threatening wound. Thresh seems momentarily surprised by his actions, but the emotion doesn't last long.

Meanwhile, I'm bounding across the blood-soaked forest floor, heading straight for Peeta. Although the two of us have acted awkward and unsure around each other ever since the Reaping, his offer to join him seems genuine. Passing up that opportunity would be downright stupid.

And yes, I admit that I may be rigid and impersonal…but I'm _far_ from stupid.

I'm five feet away from Peeta when I can feel the mace coming for me yet again. Falling to the ground, I cover my head, feeling it pass through the air directly above me. Peering up at Peeta, I see that he has scrambled back, away from me. But _not_ out of fear. Determination is written all over his face, and even when he raises the trident I don't understand his intent.

When he releases the weapon, however, the realization hits me.

"_Don't, Peeta_!" I scream. "_You'll hit_ –"

But it's not Thresh's name I'm about to say. It's Rue's.

The second the trident leaves Peeta's hand, I'm up and running. I crash through the underbrush, recklessly shoving tributes and weapons out of my way. Thresh sees me coming for him, but he's also paying attention to the twirling trident, and so when he ducks, he throws the mace sideways in a last ditch effort to take me down.

Several things happen at once.

Thresh hits the ground with a strangled-sounding groan, and the impact causes me to jolt forward. I catch myself on my hands and knees, my eyes still glued to Rue. Even in a crazy moment like this, I know intuitively that Thresh hasn't caught sight of Rue yet.

If he had, he wouldn't have jumped out of the way.

The mace misses me entirely – as I suspected it would – and lodges into a tree. The tail end of it, however, whips to the right, as if possessed by some malicious spirit.

The chain smacks Glimmer across the face, and her cheeks are instantly covered with red. Her jaw seems to snap – no, _unhinge_ – and her eyes roll back in her head as she collapses. The blonde tribute isn't dead though; I assume she probably just passed out from the shocking pain.

Peeta's face pales a deathly shade of white when he realizes that he threw his trident wide. _Too_ wide.

And finally there's Rue. She staggers as the ground vibrates from Thresh's clumsy fall. Squinting through the dark, she sees me on my hands and knees, my mouth open in silent exclamation. I'm not sure whether I want to scream or cry or whisper that everything will be okay, but in the end it doesn't matter.

In the end, I'm too late.

Our eyes meet – chocolate brown to slate gray, hopeful tribute to hope_less_ tribute – and for some reason she begins to smile. It's as if she believes that I will save her from this mayhem. Somehow she believes, despite everything, that no harm will come to her while I'm around.

Our eyes meet, and words fail me.

Our eyes meet, and the world slows.

Our eyes meet…and then the trident comes between us.

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**I'M SORRY, BUT IT WAS INEVITABLE.**

**The next chapter will probably be worse, I'm sorry to say :(**


	10. Chapter 10: Mute

**Don't ask why, but this chapter has a combination of _I-think-I'm-going-to-drown-in-my-tears_ moments and_ I-can't-help-but-laugh_ moments. In all seriousness, I was laughing while I was writing the second half. Hopefully (if some of you have the same sense of humor as myself) you'll see why.**

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I don't move.

And neither does anything else.

Time slows. Motion ceases. Sensation stops.

My mind captures the next few moments in second-by-second snapshots. I won't piece together these events until much, much later.

The trident connects with Rue's neck, slicing nearly all the way through the bone. Blood spurts everywhere and tendons become visible, as do veins. Everything inside Rue seems unnaturally brilliant, as if she is lit from within by her own personal sun. The glistening white bones in her neck are a glaring contrast against her cocoa skin and the gloomy cast of the arena.

Rue's head bends so far back it almost touches the skin between her shoulder blades. Her eyes lose color, but not awareness. She gazes at the moon as the trident digs further into her neck. She appears to be taking in a big, shuddering breath. Her tiny body, for a brief instant, is suspended between the forest floor and a looming tree. She looks weightless…peaceful…sorrowful.

Because she must know that this is the end.

Her body hits the ground with a dull thud, and dust cascades around her. Blood seeps into the grass and pebbles and moss, snaking through misshapen roots and bushes and fallen leaves. Her limbs relax, and the hair that never seems to flatten spreads around her head, fanlike. Rue's eyelids grow heavy, although they twitch once, twice, three times when a high-pitched keening pierces the air.

It's me.

I'm screaming.

Frozen in time, I'm not entirely sure how it started. But my mouth is open, my body is no longer my own, and my voice is exploding out of me in a single, mournful pitch.

Mournful? No, that can't be right. I'm scared, angry, confused, _devastated_. I shouldn't be feeling mournful. Not yet. It's too soon.

Suddenly Rue's face begins to flicker, and no sooner have I realized this when her face morphs into another. One that is more familiar to me than my own.

It's Prim.

She's gaping at me, her porcelain skin ruined by smeared blood and grime. The look in her light blue eyes is distant, receding.

Accusing.

But then Rue is back, her body nothing more than an empty shell.

Prim.

Rue.

Prim.

Rue.

And I know what they're both trying to say: "_You failed. You didn't protect me, Katniss, and now I'm dead. It's your fault. You left me. It's YOUR FAULT! You LEFT me!_"

I'm still screaming.

Something big stomps across the forest floor. The thundering footfalls approach swiftly. Another voice joins in with mine, although the emotion in it is different. This person is angry, furious, livid. I am nothing. I feel nothing.

I place the voice – and the footfalls. It's Thresh. He seems to have grasped what has happened. This understanding will no doubt lead to feelings of guilt and remorse, but for right now…all he seems capable of is an insurmountable rage.

And for some unfathomable reason, he's decided to blame Rue's death on me.

My screams cease only when I'm tackled from the side and my head smacks against the ground. Everything becomes disjointed. Colors blend above me in the sunless sky, swirling and twisting and transforming. Nothing else moves; nothing else matters. After – a minute? an hour? a year? – the colors all coalesce into one, impenetrable shade of black.

Black, like how I'm feeling.

Black, like the look in Thresh's eyes.

Black, like the universe Rue has descended into.

The remaining tribute from District 11 raises his fist, and I do nothing to stop him. He can punch me, kick me, torture me to an inch of my life, but nothing, _absolutely nothing_, can compare to the feeling I'm experiencing now.

The feeling of wishing I was already dead.

I stare blankly up at the sky – "_YOUR fault! It's YOUR FAULT, Katniss_!" – wanting this to be over. If only Thresh would hurry it up. His fingers tighten into a rock-hard fist, and I await the pain with a sense of relief. _Finally_, I think. _Finally_.

Just before Thresh swings, something latches onto his fist. It appears to be another hand, and a face that controls the hand swims in and out of view. I'm unable to connect the face with a name or an appearance. All the same, this unexpected hand pulls on Thresh's fist, forcing him to turn his head.

A moment later, his head jerks back, and he jumps away from me, staggering. An equally-as-large figure begins to attack Thresh, and a loud, fearful-sounding battle ensues.

I watch all of this disinterestedly, wishing someone would end my agony_. Why is it that the one and only wish I've had since entering the arena is being continually denied? _I think angrily._ Where's a spiked mace when you need one?!_

Several endless minutes later, a loud boom – a cannon? – ruptures my peaceful state, and I'm forced to acknowledge that I'm still here, still alive in this godforsaken arena. I silently beg and plead and scream for someone to end my agony…but these requests go unanswered.

A familiar hand swims into view again. It touches my cheek, probes under my eyelid (although my eyes have been open this whole time), and touches a spot on my chest. I remain totally silent through all of this.

A scream rips through the air – thankfully, it's not mine…this time. There's a big commotion off to my right, but I can't will myself to look. My level of curiosity is currently in the negative numbers. I just want to be left alone, but that seems to be an impossible task.

I blink and somehow find myself inside the Cornucopia. I'm in a far corner, facing one wall. Birds chirp outside, and I can smell something frying. Meat, maybe. Or it might just be the wood burning. I wonder how much time has elapsed, though I figure it can't be too much considering someone's _still_ screaming their head off.

Staring at the metal covering of the Cornucopia, I remain in the position I woke up in – not an uncomfortable one, to be honest – for the next two hours. To anyone else I might appear transfixed by this little beetle that's slowly but surely making its way across the inside wall of my shelter. In reality, I'm just too unmotivated to do anything else. Eating, hunting, and especially talking require effort, and that is something I'm completely devoid of at the moment. Unable to think clearly, I will myself to fall back asleep.

Unfortunately, I don't get very far.

"Are you awake yet?"

The voice is subdued, though there's an impatience in it that would be hard to mistake Inwardly, I sigh. Why must he be irritating _and_ frightening?

I don't acknowledge that he's there. _Maybe_, I think hopefully, _he'll assume I'm still asleep_.

"I saw you turn your head a few minutes ago, Katniss," he says, exasperated. This completely blows my budding hopes out the proverbial window.

Unwilling to make this easy – no motivation, remember? – I don't move. And hey, if I concentrate hard enough, Cato might somehow read my mind, take the hint, and go away.

"You have to eat."

_No, I really don't_.

"You can't sleep forever."

_Wanna bet_?

"This is the _Hunger Games_, Katniss. You have to at least _try_ to survive."

Who says I want to survive? And is it just me, or has Cato actually called me by my real name…_twice_? And in one day, too.

I ignore him.

Cato sighs. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

And with those ominous words, he leaves.

Someone whimpers, and my eyebrows rise. Either the Careers have captured a tribute while I was unconscious, or (and this is a stretch) Glimmer is making helpless little noises at the opposite end of the Cornucopia. In a way, I hope it's the former – first, because being helpless is _not_ Career-approved, and second, whatever is scaring her so badly must be either pretty painful or pretty frightening.

I don't care enough to find out.

Twenty minutes later, Cato's back. At first I'm surprised by his persistence, but then I remind myself that nothing can surprise me anymore. After yesterday, nothing matters…especially him. After all, _he's_ the one who dragged me into all this. If I hadn't been forced into joining the Careers, I could have joined up with Peeta, who – with his natural charisma – would have collected most of the allies I saw with him earlier. Both tributes from District 10 wouldn't be dead, Foxface wouldn't be injured, Thresh wouldn't be running around like a maniac, and –

I stop thinking.

"Here," Cato says, and I jump, having forgotten that he's behind me. A piece of jerky flops onto the pillow, inches from my nose. I have to give him some points for precision. "Eat."

Inside my head: "But I don't _want_ to. Don't you get that?!"

Aloud:

"This is ridiculous," he snaps, and I can tell he's beginning to get annoyed.

Inside my head: "_You're_ ridiculous."

Aloud:

Glimmer groans loudly and starts gasping in short pants. I can tell the screaming isn't too far behind. Shifting his position, Cato makes his way over to the District 1 tribute. She quiets when Cato mutters something, and I can't say that I'm not totally relieved.

Peace and quiet. That's all I'm asking for over here.

Cato returns three minutes later, and this time he doesn't bother to talk to me. Instead I feel his hand on my shoulder, and without much effort he manages to roll me onto my back. I stare blankly up at the ceiling, knowing this will aggravate him. _Hoping_ it will so he'll leave me alone for good.

He leans over me, still tight-lipped, and for a moment it almost feels like he's hugging me. His chest hovers above mine, and I can't help but examine and admire the muscles partially hidden under his shirt. His proximity is quite a shock to my system, and I wrinkle my nose, uncomfortable.

But then he's back to crouching by my side, and I exhale noiselessly. In his hand is the lone piece of jerky, which he then proceeds to stuff into _my_ hand. Grabbing my wrist, he pries back my fingers and dumps the meat into my palm.

"_Eat_," he commands. Instead my hand flops to my side, and the jerky slips to the floor.

Inside my head: "Make me."

Aloud:

Cato leans over me so that I have no choice but to see him – I still don't technically have to _look_ at him though. Keeping my eyes averted, I force myself to remain expressionless. It's actually not as hard as I thought it would be.

"Katniss," he says in a light, friendly voice, "I am not fucking around."

It happens before I can do anything to stop it – my eyes flicker to his, and…I flinch. A self-satisfied smirk stretches across his lips, but it's gone before I have to time get angry about the fact that he tricked me. The steely demeanor is back in place.

"You're going to do _something_ whether you want to or not," he hisses, and stands up.

Inside my head: "Oh, he's leaving!"

Aloud:

Unfortunately, he does not actually depart the scene. Instead of stomping out in a barely restrained huff, like I suspected he would, Cato grabs my arms and hauls me to my feet. The second he lets go I collapse to the floor in a heap.

Needless to say, I wasn't expecting that.

Cato leaps forward, although it's far too late to prevent me from falling, and mutters what sounds perilously close to _fuck_ under his breath.

Inside my head: "Cato curses?!"

Aloud:

Sighing in defeat, he plops down next to me. I've regained my composure – or what little of it I have left – and am now sitting with my back against the Cornucopia and my legs spread out in front of me. My hands lay uselessly in my lap, and I stare straight ahead. I can hear the beetle I had been watching earlier scuttle across the section of wall by my left ear.

Cato doesn't say anything for a full fifteen minutes. Honestly, it's quite a record for him. But then he shifts his arm, and I know he's preparing to say something.

"I'm going to get some sleep."

Inside my head: "Not what I expected, but okay."

Aloud:

Cato and Clove doze while Glimmer twists from side to side, moaning.

I daydream.

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**I'm sorry, but no one better write anything nasty about this chapter. I love it too much.**


	11. Chapter 11: An Unforeseen Twist

**Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! That includes Strawberryluv, RachellovesPeeta, and "anonymous guest" EGilly, as well as sumthinblu, sundragons9, and "anonymous guest" Cathy, who I have thanked before.**

**Now, let's see**: **I'm going to try and clear this up a little. Katniss basically shuts down after Rue is killed because Rue reminded her so much of her sister (this is mentioned in the first book). When Rue dies, Katniss takes on all the blame because she basically feels like she's failed in keeping Rue - and therefore her sister - safe. She doesn't know what to do with herself, and the pain of losing a close friend - again, one that feels like a sister - is too much for her, so she kinda loses it for a while.**

**That's my reasoning anyway.**

**READ ON, MY FELLOW KATO/CATONISS SHIPPERS!**

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Miraculously, Cato actually _does_ fall asleep. Like a deep, all-encompassing sleep. His fingers eventually stop twitching around the handle of the sword that seems to have become an extension of his arm, and his breathing slows. Even Clove is lying face-down on her sleeping bag, one of her ever-present knives in each hand.

Although I figure it's around noon, all of the Careers are _asleep_. I wonder if that's ever happened before. When I stand up and start to tip-toe around their motionless bodies, however, I find out that not _all_ of the Careers have decided to take an impromptu nap.

"Where are you going?"

The voice is slurred, but I would recognize that tone anywhere. There's a nasally quality to it that reminds me of her former whine. Pausing in the mouth of the Cornucopia, I finally see what has been making Glimmer moan and groan and scream in pain for the last four hours.

Her face has been destroyed into individual flaps of skin. There are vertical whip marks on both her cheeks, and someone has fixed her jaw so that it stays shut…for the most part. Apparently there's just enough space for her to open her mouth and demand to know where I'm going.

Even in this pityingly weak state, Glimmer is as irritating as ever.

"Sucks to be you right now, huh?" I say with fake sympathy. In the back of my head, I think, _The chain. The chain whipped across her face. Yes, I remember now, the chain of the tri-_

I cut my thoughts off before they tread into dangerous territory.

She sneers…or tries to. "Oh, so you're talking now?"

Oops. I've almost forgotten. It's not like I've broken a vow of silence or anything though. For the first few hours after I had woken up, I just hadn't been able to find my voice…and I hadn't wanted to. Things are simpler when nothing is said.

"I guess I am."

"You didn't answer me," she spits. "_Where are you going_?"

I shrug and turn away.

"Get back here! I'll wake Cato up, you _know_ I will."

She thinks she has me; I can tell. But the fact of the matter is, she can no longer touch me. Not mentally, not emotionally, and certainty not physically.

I turn around slowly. "Actually, I don't think you will, Glimmer. You see, if you open your whiny little mouth to scream or call out, I'll kill you." I glare, daring the girl to call my bluff.

"You wouldn't…" Her voice trails off when she sees what's in my eyes.

Nothingness.

"So go ahead, _District 1_," I sneer mockingly. "Scream for Cato. Hell, scream for Clove. She's the one who really needs to go."

Glimmer is silent.

I nod. "Thought so."

The afternoon sun beats down on my head as soon I step into the light. Everything – the forest, the bonfire pit, the sky, the gleaming metal weapons – is too clear, too _real_. I don't like it. But I know that if I don't leave now, I won't get another chance.

Probably ever.

Locating my trusty weapon next to a pile of hastily collected wood, I sling the cache of arrows over my shoulder and the bow into my hands. Squinting (because I'm unused to the brilliance of the sun after being sequestered inside the Cornucopia for so long) I estimate the direction that Cato and I had gone yesterday.

Pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders, I start walking.

* * *

**GLIMMER'S POV**

_That little bitch_, I think over and over again. _That manipulative, sneaky, _ugly_ little bitch_.

Fuming, I wait exactly five full minutes before calling for Cato. I know he won't like being woken up from a much-needed sleep, but this is more important. Our prisoner has basically just walked out of her prison! Unacceptable.

You would think the Careers have everything under strict control…but that isn't the case. _What poor excuses they are_, I seethe. _If I was in better condition, I would _never_ allow that District 12 filth to be unsupervised, even for a minute._

"Cato! Cato, wake up!"

He mumbles something, but remains prostrate.

"_Cato_," I snap, raising my voice. If I'm lucky, maybe I'll disturb Clove's sleep, too. "Your little girlfriend has just left, in case you're interested."

And it hurts – it really, truly _hurts_ – to say that. Oh, I'm not blind; I've noticed the interaction between the two of them. Cato watches the girl hungrily, almost…protectively. I _hate_ that, and I've made it known that I do. The emotion between them – it isn't right. It isn't _natural_.

But _me_ and Cato? _That's_ natural.

"What?" Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Cato looks around, bewildered, before his gorgeous baby blues land on me. I almost want to cover my hideous face, but that will be taken as a sign of weakness, and I've already shown enough of that today.

"District 12," I say in bored tone. "She left."

I've never seen him move so fast.

"Why the fuck didn't you say something sooner, Glimmer?" He's tugging on his shoes, sheathing that hulking sword he never seems to be without, and stuffing a couple of knives and canisters of water into a small backpack.

"Why are you packing those?" I ask distastefully.

"We don't know how far she's gone, do we?" He glances at me, and the look in his eyes is one of great pity. "It could be a long time until I find her."

Trying to ignore the unwanted compassion on his face, I ask, "You're going alone?"

"Of course."

"Well, why?" But I know why. I just want to hear him say it.

He growls under his breath. "Do I really have to spell it out for you? Clove needs to stay here in case something happens, and you're too…injured to be of any help. Therefore," he concludes sarcastically, "I go alone."

I don't like the sound of that. Not that I have a say in what happens around here anymore.

"Why are you even bothering to go look for her? Let her wander around for a while. You never know; maybe some other tribute will kill her off."

He straightens up, takes a quick survey of the space around him, and heads outside. "Killing her is my job."

"Oh_, is it_?" I hiss sarcastically.

But he's already gone.

I lay back down on my soiled sleeping bag, holding back the bitter tears. _Remember, the cameras might be on you,_ I tell myself silently. _Look pretty, Glimmer_. _After all, that's the only thing you're good for_.

Screaming inwardly at the pain, I force myself to smile.

* * *

The forest is quiet. No inexplicable fires (or ambushes), no exploding bombs (or heads), no suffocating poison (or hands). For the first time in a long while, the arena is peaceful. The Gamemakers must be satisfied with the drama that's unfolding among the tributes, and so they're giving us a "well-deserved" break.

How thoughtful of them.

I march past bushes and high grass, scanning the immediate area. Most of the dirt looks turned up and flung about, so I assume that I'm close. Skirting around a tree that's cut neatly in half, I narrow my eyes. There's nothing particularly odd about this part of the forest, and yet something feels…different.

That's how I know; this _has_ to be it. There is evidence of both humans and weapons everywhere – knife marks in the tree bark, shoe imprints in the muddy sections of the ground, dried blood splashed across twigs and leaves and rocks. My eyes rove over all of this, taking mental pictures, and then –

I see it. The exact spot where she was killed.

My body freezes up again, and I have to force myself to move forward. Struggling to keep my composure, I stand over the spot that was once covered by a tribute's dead body. One of the Gamemakers' high-tech hovercrafts must have picked her up after everyone left. There's a bit of dried blood right where her head must have been severed…and that's it.

Well, I _think_ that's it. My eyes unconsciously flick to the side, and there, burned into the dirt, is a dainty handprint.

The five fingers are spread evenly, and the palm is a perfect oval with no creases. I drop to my knees and very hesitantly touch the center of the imprint. My body trembles, and somehow – thanks to a deep-seated sense of intuition – I'm aware that all the cameras are turned my way, recording this, showing the world my reaction, my loss.

In the very back of my mind I know I should be furious; I should stand up and make some sort of salute to show the Gamemakers – and everyone else involved in the Hunger Games – that they can't beat me. I am strong and determined, and I will not allow them to dictate my life.

But I can't even raise my head yet. The despair is too great.

Now I know that what I saw moments after her death was nothing more than a hallucination. My brain had shut down, shocked and totally unresponsive, and my mind must have dreamt up that image. I was so traumatized that my reality wavered for a moment. The truth is, my sister isn't dead. That I know for sure. She's back in my home district, back in District 12, most likely sitting at the kitchen table with my mother, watching me on the monitors as I mourn.

The nation thinks I'm mourning the…tribute (I can't say her name; I can't even _think_ it) from District 11. What they don't know is that, all along, I've been imagining another face as well. A pale face with wispy blond hair and solemn blue eyes, a face that looked up to me until the day I left. I have failed to keep the District 11 tribute safe…so who is to say I'll be able to protect my sister if I return home? I'm untrustworthy, completely disloyal, and incapable of keeping my loved ones safe.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, so quietly that the air around me barely stirs.

Tears leak from my eyes, and at that moment I can honestly say that I don't care who or what is watching my mental breakdown. I needed to do this. I needed to come back to the scene of her death, if only to find some closure.

But it's _more_ than that.

Something has changed just now. Her death has begun to serve as a reminder of what I'm fighting for. I need to get back to Prim, to my mother, to Gale. I need to _win_ this – not just for me, but for everyone who lives in District 12. I'm in a position to _feed_ them, to support and _protect_ the people I love in the only way I can.

"_You _have_ to win. Promise me you'll come back_." Prim's words resound inside my head, and I take a deep breath.

I wish I could tell her this now: _I _will_ win, Prim. This is bigger than me, bigger than you, bigger than _all_ of us_.

This is no longer just about survival; it's about beating the Capitol, the Gamemakers, and especially President Snow (who is undoubtedly one-hundred percent responsible for this) at their own game. Wiping the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, I look up. The sky is blank, but I smile. Let them wonder what I'm thinking. Let them wonder what it means.

"It's far too dangerous for you to be out here on your own."

My eyes widen, but I don't allow myself to register surprise outwardly. Cato can't know that he has snuck up on me so easily. It'll boost his ego, which is already twice as big as it should be.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were coming here?"

My back to him, I shrug.

"Still not talking?" he asks, sighing.

"We're not here to talk," I remind him in a hard voice. "We're here to survive."

He doesn't say anything.

Slowly, I stand up, bow held tightly in my left hand. Turning, I keep my facial expression neutral. "We're in this arena to kill each other, nothing more." I pause. "But then, you already know that."

He stares at me.

I tap my bow lightly with one finger, calculating.

"Were you trying to leave us?" he asks suddenly.

I unconsciously tilt my head to the side, confused. "What do you mean?"

"When the other tributes attacked us last night," he explains, watching me closely. "Were you and Rue trying to lose us in the dark?"

Without thinking, I shut my eyes. _He_ _said her name, he said her name, he said her name_, I think mindlessly. Cato waits patiently for me to open my eyes and compose myself.

How polite.

"No," I say softly. "We weren't."

"I'll take your word for it." He clenches his jaw and then takes a decisive step to the right. I instantly mirror this action. My fingers tighten on the bow, and Cato notices.

"You know, for a while there…you looked like you _wanted_ to die."

"That was then."

"What changed your mind?"

Well, let's see: Prim, Rue, the Capitol, the Gamemakers…just about everyone. But instead I murmur, "Let's just say I have a lot to gain if I win this."

"_If_ you win," he emphasizes.

I nod.

"You were really fond of the little girl," he says after a moment.

_Oh, gee, what clued you in? _Swallowing, I whisper, "I still am."

"You trusted her more than any of us. Clove. Glimmer." He pauses. "Me."

"Well, of _course_ I did!" I explode, my emotions careening out of control. "You guys are the main part of the Career alliance! You _hunt_ tributes like me. Just because you forced me to live with you doesn't mean I'm going to enjoy it, let alone _trust_ you!" Rage courses through me, lighting every nerve-ending on fire.

"Don't take your anger out on me," he says coldly. "I'm not the one who killed Rue."

Again, my eyes snap shut. But this time that's not enough. I clap my hands over my ears, fuming even as my chest tightens. The pain is still fresh, and Cato seems to have no problem poking a sore wound.

Cato laughs. "You're going to block me out? _Please_. Stop being childish."

"_Shut up_!" I scream venomously. "I _hate_ you. You know that, don't you? I fucking hate you!"

And then I do the unthinkable; I take my hands away from my ears, pull an arrow out of my dwindling supply, and slide it into the quiver. All in one smooth, seamless motion. In less than a second, I'm prepared to release this arrow straight into Cato's neck.

Closing one eye, I aim and prepare to fire.

Cato seems impossibly calm. "You've never used my real name before."

_And I never will again_, I promise silently.

"I've seen you shoot many times," he adds, as if we're just two people having a pleasant conversation.

I'm silent.

"You never miss."

Again, nothing.

"So go ahead," he says, encouraging me by opening his arms wide. "Kill me. You have it in you, I can tell."

My breathing quickens. I can do it, too. I won't regret it. With Cato out of the way, I might actually have a chance of winning the Games. Imagine: seeing Prim's sunny face again, watching my mother's lips curve into a rare smile, sighing as Gale gives me an enormous bear hug, and feeling an overwhelming sense of relief when all of District 12 cheers, unendingly thankful for the food I've bestowed on them. Thankful for keeping them alive for one more year. I can do it. Release the arrow. That's all it'll take.

I _will_ do it.

Shifting my aim one-tenth of an inch to the right, I start to release the arrow so that – when it hits – it'll enter Cato's left eye. He'll finally be dead, and I'll still be here.

Fighting.

I'm a second away from letting go when someone bursts out from behind a tree. Alarmed, my eyes flick to the side, and I feel inexplicably cold. It's Clove.

_How long has she been hiding there_? I think, frantically trying to figure out who I should take down first. However, I know it's too late for decisions; I've unthinkingly released the arrow. Since my attention wavered, it flies harmlessly past Cato's shoulder, three feet from its intended target.

Clove is seething. She grabs a knife out of her belt and flings it my way. I jump to the side, roll twice, and manage to regain my footing with ease.

"_Hold still, you bitch_," she screams, spittle flying everywhere.

"I don't think so," I murmur, reloading another arrow. There's only two left in my cache, and that worries me.

Clove cackles. "Shoot me, I _dare_ you! I'll kill you before that arrow gets anywhere near me! Oh, and Glimmer's right, Cato," she adds, half-turning to address him. "This one is nothing but District 12 filth, and it was a bad idea to bring her to our camp."

He doesn't acknowledge her or her words.

"I can shoot farther than you can throw, Clove," I say in a steady voice. "I would be worrying about that instead of calling me names."

"_You_ would, District 12. The thing is, I don't care to worry. Besides, we have something important of yours," she taunts, twirling a knife through her fingers.

This can't be good.

"Bring him out, Glimmer!" Clove smirks. "Bring out Lover Boy!"

Glimmer steps into view, her face a mask of pure agony. Her legs are shaky, but she's still pointlessly trying to tough it out. It's obvious that at any moment, she'll collapse. And…well, she might not wake up again.

_Sounds good to me_, I think emotionlessly. The girl deserves it after attacking me without any actual proof that I was involved in Marvel's death. It doesn't suprise me that she still hasn't even considered Cato as the culprit.

What's _not_ good with me, however, is the handsome captive held by Glimmer. His blonde hair is mussed and dirty, there are angry-looking scratch marks zigzagging across his cheeks, and his body sags, as if he's stuck under an invisible weight. He catches my eye and grimaces.

_This can't be happening_, I think numbly. _Not again_. _Not so soon after…after Rue_. _No, this isn't real. This is _not_ happening. _

But it is.

The Careers' captive is Peeta, and he mouths just two distinct words when our eyes meet and hold.

_Kill me_.

* * *

**I will now direct your attention to the review box. GO!**

**Also, I've been getting a lot of "I can't imagine a character doing _this_" and "I can't imagine this _actually happening_!" comments. ****Well, dears, in case you haven't noticed...this is FANFICTION. Of course you can't _imagine_ any of this happening because _it didn't_! I'm putting a spin on the story, making it how _I_ want it to be. ****So if you honestly don't like it (and feel the need to continuously remind me of that) please go write your own FF or something.**

** THANK YOU AND THAT IS ALL OK NOW GO!**


	12. Chapter 12: Into The Abyss

**I am so sorry that I have not updated since October (almost four months, if truth be told). Writer's block inevitably took over and I found that I could not continue this story. I'm trying to get back into the grove, but who knows how long it will take or if it will happen at all. I hope to update this story periodically until the end, and I also hope everyone who has read this story has stuck with it. **

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Naturally, the first question that comes into my mind is _why_? But I can't say it aloud; I can't even mouth it. Although Peeta's desperate eyes have my full, undivided attention, there's still a small part of me that is uncomfortably aware of a certain blue-eyed monster.

Cato's eyes are trained on my own shocked, unmoving ones, but I don't dare look at him. Direct eye contact might set me off completely, or worse – make me fall apart into a thousand broken shards of my former, confident self. To be honest, I'm not feeling anywhere near confident.

For the first time since my sister's name was announced at the Reaping, I am truly frightened.

But I won't show it. I can't allow the others to see my weakness. So far I've managed to keep most of my emotions in check, and that's how it is going to stay until I can handle no more.

And let me just say that that time is fast approaching.

"Why are you _here_?" I ask, furious. "Why were you crawling around here, Peeta?"

He seems taken aback. "I was – the Cornucopia," he stutters, staring at me with wide eyes. "I've been keeping an eye on the Cornucopia so –"

"Don't you know how _dangerous_ that is? God, Peeta, _think_ a little! Look where all your spying has gotten you!" The bow shakes in my hands, and for a moment I'm afraid I will drop my weapon. That's how out of control I feel.

"Katniss," he whispers, wincing as Glimmer's grip tightens. I can see that the small effort it takes to do so exhausts her. "Katniss, please, I had no –"

"You know, this is quite entertaining, but it really isn't the time for a lover's quarrel," Clove interrupts, seeming for all the world like she would rather spend her time gossiping inanely with someone superficial and self-absorbed (like Glimmer, for instance) rather than listen to us for a second more.

"It's either you or him," Glimmer puts in faintly. She seems on the verge of collapsing. For a moment I consider taking her out before things escalate, but then I see Clove's smirk, and I know she's already onto me.

"Don't even think about it," she says. "As for the whole 'you or him' debacle…well, let's just say it's either _just_ him or _both_ of you." She laughs cruelly. "Face it, Twelve. Peeta isn't getting out of this alive, so you might as well surrender now and save us the trouble."

_Why do you want me to kill you_? I think, nervous. _Why are you giving up so _easily? I stare at Peeta, willing him to receive my internal message.

Peeta gazes at me, and the answer in his eyes is clear: _If you don't, they will_.

What he's saying breaks my heart…because it's undeniably true. Basically, if I don't end his life with a well-aimed arrow, the Careers will torture him slowly, maliciously, maybe even sadistically in Clove's case, until the life ebbs out of him. It might be hours before he succumbs to unconsciousness, whereas if I took the initiative and put him out of his misery, it would only take a second.

Grasping these implications – but torn with indecision – I open my mouth to reassure him in any way I can.

"We don't have all day, you know," Clove spits, and without warning spins toward Peeta, yanks his head back, and drags her recently sharpened knife blade across his exposed neck.

I scream and lurch forward.

"Stop right there!" Glimmer shouts, but then her legs give out beneath her, and she unceremoniously hits her head on a large pile of rocks on the way down.

That's my cue.

The arrow is already in my hand once Clove finally realizes what has happened to her cohort. Something flashes in her eyes – alarm, probably – and she lets out a strangled-sounding scream, but by then I've released the arrow. She flings herself out of the way and avoids the flying steel tip. Barely.

"_Cato_!" Clove screeches. "_Don't just stand there_!"

For once, the blonde-haired tribute does as he's told. Well, partially. He takes several careful steps in my direction, watching me warily. There's something in his eyes that doesn't seem…right.

Ignoring him (for the time being), I refocus on Peeta. His expression is one of great shock, and it might have been comical except for the blood oozing out of the shallow cut on his neck. Clove stands between us, her lips twisted into a cruel sneer. Helplessly, I reach a hand out to him.

"Stay where you are, Peeta," I say loudly, my voice on the verge of cracking. "Don't…don't move, okay?"

He doesn't answer. There's a film covering his eyes; he seems disoriented. That's when I know that if the two of us are going to get out of this alive, it's going to be because of my actions. If I don't play this right, the District 12 tributes will not survive.

_Two arrows left_, I think slowly. _If I can notch one of them before Clove reaches Peeta…if the arrow kills her before she has a chance to throw a knife my way…if Cato doesn't try to kill either of us by shoving a spear through our stomachs…we might have a slight chance of escaping_. _Maybe_.

The odds aren't exactly in our favor. I realize that.

Breathing deep, I turn to address Cato. "Don't even think about it," I warn, keeping his sword in my peripheral vision. Glancing away, even for the barest fraction of a second, could result in my death.

"What do you want me to do, Katniss?" he asks me rhetorically. There's something lost about the expression on his face, and I don't quite know what to make of it. "Someone has to go."

"_Someone_ meaning me, you mean," I say tiredly. "Me or Peeta."

He doesn't deny this.

Hopelessly, I catch Peeta's eye again. I try to convey everything I'm feeling, including guilt and anger and sadness and overwhelming fear. Above all, however, I hope he can see that I am already begging his forgiveness. Begging for his understanding. Begging, in a way, for his permission.

Fire ignites in Peeta's previously glazed eyes, and now I see that he is completely aware of everything unfolding around us – our perilous situation (which happens to be growing more perilous by the second), the blood dripping down his neck (in increasing amounts), the darkness of the arena (already significantly darker than it was two minutes ago), the snarling Careers (who are thirsting for his blood)…and especially me (looking hopeless) and my position (equally as hopeless).

It's this emotion, the plea for forgiveness and understanding, that makes him understand what's about to go down. This last emotion that prepares him for what we both know is the inevitable end. This last emotion that seals the deal.

Nodding, I lift my bow, straighten my aim, and release the arrow.

Pain ripples through me as I see it make contact with his body. It pierces his skin, slides into his chest, and comes to a silent, nearly bloodless halt. The arrow sticks out by more than six inches, but he doesn't seem to notice. I, by comparison, already feel myself losing it. I gasp, trying to hold back the sensations of fear and loss and hopelessness that threaten to drown me in wave after relentless wave. His death, as it will appear to everyone, including the remaining Careers, is undeniably my fault, and (because I am completely, one-hundred percent aware of this) I am instantly feeling everything that he apparently is not.

Clove grinds to a stop, almost stumbling in her haste to absorb this impossible change in events. There are two knives in each of her hands, as if she has been preparing to attack an evil overlord with numerous weapons rather than a boy who has already given up, resigned himself to his fate. She stares at my district partner's unmoving, stick-straight body. I can't see her face, but I _can_ feel her surprise from where I stand. Her surprise…and her disbelief.

Despite her twisted taunts, she has not expected me to actually end Peeta's life. I guess she thought our so-called "relationship" was too strong for that. Unfortunately for her, it seems as though she has underestimated me yet again. I twist my lips into a crude smile, wishing with all my heart that things had not turned out like this. Rue dead. Peeta dead. Even I am dead, though only in a roundabout way.

Outwardly, I'm still shooting arrows and doing everything I can to ensure my survival. Inwardly, however, I have raised the white flag of surrender and am only waiting for someone to notice.

Cato does not react in any discernible way, not that I would really know. I refuse to look in his direction. I'm not ready to face him yet. I'm not ready to face anyone, myself and the audience included. Truth be told, I don't know if I can live with my actions. Killing the other tributes was somewhat understandable, but killing Peeta is unforgiveable.

What I want is to be able to just stand here, if only for a brief moment, and mourn everyone and everything that could have been.

Just before Peeta finally tips to the side, into an abyss from which he will never return, I swear I see a smile cross his lips.

And I can't help but think that he is relieved.

* * *

**This chapter, like most of my others, isn't long. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless, and if you would be so kind to leave a review or comment, that would make my day. Thank you for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13: Aftermath

**I'M SO SORRY I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE FORGIVE ME**

**I'm going to try and update regularly (once a week, at least...maybe more if my creativity persists). Graduation is almost here (three weeks), so I really don't have much to do anymore, besides work work work. I'm hoping to focus on my unfinished fics so I can start new ones YAY~~ **

**DON'T BE ANGRY WITH ME AND I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS CHAP DESPITE MY HORRIBLENESS**

* * *

"_Peeta_!" His name involuntarily escapes my parted lips, and I can't help a small, tortured moan from following. My carefully composed mask cracks, though only for an instant.

The corners of my mouth turn down in a frown, and my lips quiver. My eyes start to squint, as if I'm having trouble seeing. The truth is, I'm fighting to keep my tears at bay. My heart lurches in my chest, and I feel a deep, crippling ache flash through my entire body. This expression of despair is revealed for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the people who know me to catch it on their projected television screen, before it vanishes, leaving behind a blank slate. My eyes exude emptiness while my mouth settles into a straight line. I will myself to feel nothing, to show nothing, to – essentially – _be_ nothing.

Peeta's motionless body is sprawled face-down on the ground, an unofficial barrier between me and the other two Careers. Glimmer is down for the count, and I'm honestly not sure if she'll be resurfacing any time soon. She hit her head pretty hard on those rocks. I can only hope that she doesn't reawaken.

Raising an eyebrow, Clove stares at my dead district partner before glancing back up at me and, twisting her mouth into the approximation of a smirk, says, "Oops."

It doesn't matter that this single word does not make any sense whatsoever, given the circumstances. In the end, _I'm_ the one who killed Peeta. I'm the one who put an arrow through his chest. But she's the one who gave me that option. She's the one who pushed me to that point.

I am beside myself with rage, a rage so intense I feel myself vibrating. There is only about fifteen feet separating the two of us, and before I have even finished calculating the distance, I am off and running at her, full-sprint. I open my mouth and let lose a primal scream, one that seems to come from my very core. Clove is obviously taken aback by my straightforward approach because she only has time to whip out a knife and draw back her hand. I'm slamming into her before she manages to release the weapon.

I'm still screaming as I punch Clove square in the jaw. The impact sends several shock waves spiraling down my arm and through the rest of my body, but I'm focused only on the satisfying crunch of the bone-on-bone contact. Her jaw against my fist? No competition, especially considering my attack is spurned by complete and utter fury.

Her jaw unhinges as several teeth fly out of her mouth. She snarls like an animal and tries to buck me off her, but I'm totally resistant. After all, I'm not finished. Placing my hands flat against her cheeks, I grab her head and smash it repeatedly into the soft earth, willing her skull to crack, willing blood and brain fluids and bone to flow out. None of that happens, although chunks of vomit come flying from Clove's mouth instead.

Disgusted but not deterred, I swipe my sleeve across my cheek and lean down to whisper in Clove's ear. My breath smells like blood. "I'm going to kill you for this."

The District 2 tribute hasn't managed to catch her breath yet, and I'm thankful for that, if nothing else. I am certainly not in the mood for her bitter, condescending taunts. I'm just preparing to finish the job by smashing my elbow into her nose when I feel arms wrap around my waist and begin tugging me away. I'm lifted right off Clove, who immediately scoots backward and brings her hands to her face, wiping away vomit and congealed blood.

I'm still being held in mid-air, my feet swinging helplessly, unconsciously reaching for solid ground. I don't find any, and that only infuriates me more. I buck and twist, but the arms that restrain me are unusually strong. Of course, this alone narrows down the number of people who might be behind me to one: Cato.

It takes me a moment, but I find that I'm deeply surprised that he hasn't tried to stop me sooner.

"Stop," he grunts, but I'm in no mood for compliance.

I don't stop trying to get away from him until he throws me to the ground and puts his boot on my stomach to keep me still. My face is sporting an angry scowl and several ugly bruises, but I know I won't be getting anywhere with him watching over me. Clove, meanwhile, has gotten dizzily to her feet. She reaches out a hand for Cato's arm in an attempt to steady herself, but Cato's having none of it. He shoves her away.

She falls to the ground in slow motion, landing on her bottom. Astonished, she blinks up at her district partner. "What the hell?"

"No more." And that's all he says.

"Um, no more _what_, Cato? Can't you be any more articulate?" she spits, wheezing as she once again gets to her feet. His unflinching glare silences her.

"Fighting. I'm so tired of _fighting_. Stop trying to kill each other for just five minutes. Is that possible?" he asks, addressing Clove. His eyes, however, remain on me.

"Are you kidding me? She needs to go, Cato. All her friends are dead. She's the only one left." She scoffs and then tries to laugh, although it sounds more like the uneven keening of a dying cat. "Can't you see? She's the only thing left in our way. Once we get rid of her, it's over. We become Victors." She's nearly panting at the thought of all that glory.

He shakes his head. "Shut up, Clove."

"Excuse me? Don't you dare, Cato, my boy. Don't you _dare_. This isn't just about you and your weird lovey-dovey obsession – fantasy – _whatever_ you wanna call it with the Girl on Fire here, okay? This is way more impor – "

From some hidden pocket, Cato has somehow extracted a small, empty water canister without either of us knowing about it. He now smoothly and accurately throws it at Clove. It hits her right in the middle of the forehead, and her head snaps back, more from shock than pain, I think. Her mouth drops open, but nothing comes out.

"Clove. Shut. _Up_."

She does.

"Give me some time to think about this."

"_What_?" This is obviously not what she has expected to hear from him. For the record, I'm just as confused. "What's there to think about? We just need to _kill her_."

He throws her a warning look. "I don't really need to explain myself, Clove, but consider this: how do you know we're the only three left? Don't you think there's a strong possibility that some other tribute is out there, lying low and waiting until we've let our guard down?"

Clove is silent. For a second or two. "Well, there's only way one to find out."

He follows her pointed gaze to me.

"Give me some time," he repeats, and I know that Clove would love to argue this point until we all go insane, but she's spent. Not to mention Cato is still dishing out looks that can kill, and I don't think she wants to deal with the consequences of that right now. I know I don't.

Beyond exhausted, I stare blankly up at the sky. My back hurts from when Cato threw me to the ground, and my arms and legs feel strangely heavy, like my body has been filled with lead. Blinking away the haze, I start to grudgingly climb to my feet. A hand appears and grabs my elbow. Propelling me up, the hand doesn't let go even when I'm securely standing. Cato stares at me, and as his eyes tighten, so does his grip.

"Let's go," he says to me.

I let out a tired breath. "It better not be far." I have no idea why I'm still testing him at this point. Maybe witnessing my friend's/district partner's/possible boyfriend's death has taken a toll not only on my body but on my mind as well.

"And if it is?"

I shrug, not having thought of any witty comeback ahead of time.

And so we set off, the warmth of Cato's hand seeping through my weather-resistant jacket and into the rest of my broken and battered body. We leave Glimmer on the edges of the clearing, not really caring if she's alive or not. We also leave Peeta's body behind for one of the Capitol's hovercraft vehicles to pick up.

Unlike in Glimmer's case, however, I care if he's alive. But I don't try and fool myself into thinking he is.

He's not.

* * *

**Do I deserve a review? Probably not, but I'm gonna be optimstic and hope you're all merciful people.**


	14. Chapter 14:Beginning of An Understanding

**Wrote this as quickly as I could, as promised. I know that I myself hate when I have to wait for the ending/continuation of a story, so I'm trying to dish these chapters out as fast and efficiently as I can. Let me know what you think!**

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"Home, sweet home."

Cato shoves me into the Cornucopia, and I stumble and fall to my knees. He comes in behind me, and I hastily crawl out of his way. Locating my little area – and by "little area" I mean my sleeping bag and knocked-over water canister – I drag my body in that general direction. Too tired to care, I lie flat on top of the ugly green sleeping bag that was left over from the Career's giant supply pile. My face is mashed into the saggy material, and while I'm trying not to suffocate, I hear Clove come stomping into the camp. Several things break before she finally makes her way into the Cornucopia. She pauses at the entrance, probably to glare at me and see what Cato's doing.

"We're leaving Glimmer out there to fend for herself?"

I assume Cato nods or makes an affirmative motion of some sort.

She huffs. "Well, good riddance."

And that's the only thing said on that subject.

Before I know what's happening, Clove has drifted my way and gives me a swift kick to the stomach. I swear I feel a rib crack. Unfortunately, I do the one thing I've been telling myself I shouldn't; for one moment, I lose control and let my weakness show.

A pain-filled scream rips through my mouth and into the Cornucopia. The sudden noise jolts Clove backward, which would normally delight me. However, I'm occupied with the blazing ball of agony that's taken root inside my lower abdomen. Squeezing my stomach for all I'm worth, I try to contain the next scream, knowing it will only make things worse.

Cato is on his feet and in Clove's face before she can start laughing at me.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he roars, and I don't believe it. I can't believe it. Why is he defending me? If that's even what he's doing. He might just want to beat me up all by himself.

Clove shrinks away, her shoulders hunching. I blearily see her wince from the way her unhinged jaw reacts to the sudden movement, and that gives me a perverse sort of joy. Meanwhile, I concentrate on breathing and trying not to move or…well, breathe.

Cato grabs his partner by the shoulders and slams her back against the sloped metal wall. Her hands scrabble weakly at his chest. I can't tell if she's trying to get a grip or push him away, but she's unsuccessful either way. He gets nose-to-nose with her and says through gritted teeth, "If you can't behave yourself, I suggest you leave. _Now_. And don't come back until you've managed some semblance of self-control."

"Cato," she whispers disbelievingly, as if it's just now hitting her how much he truly hates her.

"Don't say another word. Either go to sleep or get the fuck out of here." And with that, he angrily releases his bruising grip on her shoulders and turns his back on her.

Although she must be feeling utterly betrayed, Clove flops down on her sleeping bag, which, I've noticed, she has dragged over to the far corner – the one completely opposite mine. Taking after Cato, she rolls onto her side, her back to me. And, well, everything and everyone else, but mostly me. Her intent is clear; she wants me dead. Maybe just as much as I want her dead.

The question is…why is Cato preventing that from happening?

Speaking of the devil… "Are you okay? Can you breathe?" Cato's voice is startlingly close to my ear, and I finally notice that he's crouched down next to me, his hand hovering over my body, as if he isn't sure whether he should touch me or not. The answer is obviously _not_, although I don't clearly understand why he doesn't instinctively know that.

"Fine," I huff, hoping the conversation ends here.

"Is anything broken?"

I close my eyes to prevent them from rolling skyward. "Now how would I know that?"

He pauses. "Does anything hurt if you breathe too deeply? Or if you move too much?"

"_No_," I say more forcefully, willing him to get the message.

"Are you sure?" he asks finally.

"Positive." Slowly turning away from him, I say, "You can go to sleep now."

Facing the wall, I let my eyes close and will Cato to the other side of the Cornucopia. I'm so exhausted I can barely think straight. If only he would leave me alone for good. I would say anything to get him away from me. Everything's fine. I'm fine. He's fine. Clove's fine. As long as I can sleep for the next twelve or so hours. We're all fine, fine, fine!

He sighs and walks away, much to my relief. Nestling my head into the flat-as-cardboard pillow, I start counting, keeping all my worries and confusion at bay. Forget that Clove might kill me in my sleep. Forget that Cato might turn against me and take it upon himself to end me. Forget that Peeta and Rue and all the others are dead. Forget that my mother and Prim and Gale are probably glued to their television screens, frightened out of their minds for me. Forget that the Capital is watching with those calculating eyes. Forget it all.

I'm asleep before I count to ten.

* * *

"What are you doing here?"

He steps out from behind a sagging willow tree, hands clasped behind his back. He frowns. "What do you mean? I thought this was where we agreed to meet."

"Oh." Confused, I stop to think for a second. "Maybe it is."

He laughs, long and deep. "Are you okay, Catnip? You seem a little out of sorts."

"Well, I…I just…I don't know. I thought I was somewhere else."

"Where would you be except right here with me?" He gestures grandly to the enormous forest, encompassing all the trees and flowers and animals and meadows and miles and miles of wilderness. He pulls out his special hunting knife and a roll of twine.

Shifting the strap of my backpack on my shoulder, I say slowly, "For some reason I thought I was in the Games. With the Careers." I stop at the expression on his face.

"Were you winning?"

I blink and try to laugh. "I don't think…well, I'm not sure."

His laugh is booming this time, and his eyes light up with mischief. "Don't doubt yourself, Catnip. Of course you were winning. Why would you dream about the Games if you weren't going to be Victor in the end?"

His enthusiastic attitude is contagious; I find myself smiling back at him. "You're right. With all my experience tackling bears and foxes, there's no way anyone else stands a chance."

"That's the spirit!" Tossing an arm comfortably across my shoulders, he turns and leads me deeper into the forest. "So what was it like? Being in the Games, I mean."

"Scary," is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, and I'm ashamed to show him this weakness.

"What else?" he asks, as if he isn't the least bit surprised. The blush in my cheeks darkens.

"Kinda surreal. Lonely. Stressful. And not at all how I've imagined it before. This time was different."

"Hmm," he says thoughtfully, twirling his knife deftly between his fingers. "Did you kill anyone?"

This casual question gives me pause. I don't know why, but it makes me uncomfortable. Surely I didn't kill anyone. Right? I wouldn't. I couldn't. Glancing sideways, I see that he's waiting patiently for a truthful answer.

"I'm not sure. I don't think so, but…"

"But?" he prompts, his eyes narrowing.

"Maybe," I say softly. "Maybe I did."

"I think you did," he says suddenly, in that annoying matter-of-fact tone he uses when he's absolutely sure about something. The skin around his eyes has tightened, and so has his grip on my shoulders.

"You think I did?" I ask, confused. A beat later, it hits me. "_Kill_ someone, you mean? You think I _killed_ someone?"

"Not just one person. Several. Almost half of the other tributes," he tells me, as if this has already happened and he knows it to be true. The expression on his face has altered. It is no longer familiar. His eyes have hardened, and his mouth has thinned out. It looks like his face has clouded over like an overcast day. This inexplicable change sends a shudder up my spine. For some reason, I'm frightened of him.

"How – w-what are you saying?" I'm beginning to back away from him, away from the forest and the darkness seeping out in every direction.

"You killed people, Catnip. You killed _him_."

The enunciation fills me with dread. With sudden clarity, I know what's coming. This is no longer a sunny fantasy. This is a nightmare.

"No…" I whisper, tripping over my feet as I back away from it all. I don't want to hear him say the name.

"Peeta," he spits. "You killed Peeta, and you let Rue die. Maybe we're next."

"Don't say that!" I gasp, shocked. Who does he mean by _we_? Him and Prim and my mother? Why would I kill them, or let them die when I could do something to help? He's not making sense! None of this is making sense!

He lurches towards me.

"Stay back!" I scream, the breath catching in my throat.

"Maybe we're next," he repeats in a low undertone, and before I know what's happening, Gale thrusts his hunting knife straight through my chest. It sticks out of my back, blood dripping from the tip of the razor-sharp blade.

I stare up at him as the color drains from the edges of the world.

"Please…" I say, and my voice is nothing more but the remnants of an echo.

"This is your fault," he reminds me. "You killed Peeta, and now the rest of us are going to die because of you."

Gale yanks the knife out, and I scream.

* * *

My legs flail wildly inside the constraining sleeping bag, and it's all I can do to hold in my screams. The material wraps around my legs, making me panic. I thrash around, my body covered in sweat. Colors whirl past me at a dizzying speed, and I'm afraid I'm on the edge of losing it. Gasping, I accidentally smack my hand against the metal wall of the Cornucopia, and the sound is like a bomb detonating.

Someone is suddenly dragging me back by my upper arms. My legs become freed as I'm moved entirely out of the sleeping bag. Cato's face swims into view, and his hands are grasping my cheeks, forcing me to focus on him.

"_Wake up_!" he whisper-yells. "It's only a dream. You're dreaming!"

"Wha –" I'm starting to wheeze, and the words won't come. "What h-happened?"

Cato releases my face and leans back on his haunches, staring at me curiously. "You must've had a nightmare or something. You looked like you were having some sort of anxiety attack."

I shake my head. "That's impossible. I don't have anxiety attacks."

He shrugs. "I'm just telling you what I saw." Pausing, he glances down at his hands, his face the picture of concentration. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. Wrinkling my nose at the smell of the stale sweat, I brush strands of my hair away from my face, trying to compose myself. "Depends on what it is."

He stares at me. "What were you dreaming about?"

I stiffen. He has no right to know this. He has no right to know about Gale and our secret hiding place and the fact that I feel overwhelmingly guilty for killing Peeta and letting the other tributes die while I stood off to the side. He has no right to know about the fear that lives inside me, day-in and day-out.

So how can I possibly explain why I start to tell him _everything_?

"First of all," I say softly, "it wasn't a dream. What I had was a nightmare. There's no doubt about that, although it did start out nice. You see, I was with my best friend."

"You have a _friend_?" Cato interrupts, his eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise.

Unfortunately for him, I don't rise to the bait. "Yes," I say quietly. "Gale. His name is Gale."

* * *

**YES, MY FRIENDS. CATONISS/KATO IS FINALLY ON IT'S WAY. HALLELUJAH!**


	15. Chapter 15: Unwelcome Surprises

**Okay so for some reason I thought this chapter would be relatively easy to write, but it turns out that there was much to do and think about. I'm not sure why that is, considering this really isn't a plot-changing chapter or anything. I might do some revisions when I have the time, but I hope you all enjoy it as I have it written now!**

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**Posy's POV**

"Stop it, Gale, _please_!" Mommy dodges a shower of wood chips as a chair - flung against the far wall just a few seconds ago – shatters into chunky bite-sized pieces. The atmosphere inside the Hawthorne household is one of tension and hostility. Broken chair parts litter the uneven hardwood floor, evidence of someone's extreme rage. That someone being Gale.

"I can't believe she would do this," he yells, his face turning an unnatural shade of red. He stomps around the kitchen, his hands pulling mindlessly at his hair. I've never seen him so frazzled, and it scares me.

"Honey, please, calm down," Mommy says, wildly glancing out of every window, hoping Gale's fit hasn't attracted any unwanted attention – namely, the Peacekeepers attention. She shouldn't be too worried though; with four unruly kids in the house, it's _always_ loud. This isn't a rare occurrence.

"Why would she do this? This doesn't reflect well on her _at all_. Some strategy," he fumes. "What the hell is she thinking? On _live television_? _Really_, Katniss?" Around and around the house he goes, his fists held tightly against the side of his head, as if he's hoping to stop it from exploding.

Much to my embarrassment, my bottom lip starts quivering. The harsh words coming out of his mouth are so unfamiliar to me, and knowing they're directed specifically at Katniss makes it much, much worse. She's his best friend! He isn't supposed to be talking about her this way! It's all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Gale comes circling back into the kitchen for the umpteenth time, and just as I start to think that Mommy will let him pass by yet again, she stops him by grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to lock eyes with her.

"Listen, Gale. I know you're upset about Katniss's…confession, but look what you're doing to your baby sister." Her gaze shifts my way.

In the next instant, Gale is right beside me, picking me up, holding me tightly in a smothering embrace. "I'm sorry, Posy," he whispers, his voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Yeah, well, you're upsetting the whole goddamned house." Rory, my second oldest brother, trudges into the kitchen (which, at this point, is growing uncomfortably claustrophobic).

Gale's chin rests on the top of my head, but I can almost feel the intensity of his glare as he says, "With good reason. Not that you would understand."

"Then help us," Mommy pleads, tugging on his arm, trying to get him into a chair – the only one still standing. "Make us understand why this is so bad. I don't see how this affects us."

Gale reluctantly slides down into the chair, tucking me safely into his lap. "Were you paying any attention at all?" he asks disbelievingly. "Katniss was telling that monster all about the two of us. But, oh, don't worry, that doesn't affect you or Rory or Posy or even me. It affects –"

"Lemme guess. It screws with your _we're-in-love-but-we-don't-want-to-admit-it_ relationship?" Rory interjects, smirking.

Gale's eyes darken to the color of storm clouds. "That's not how it is and you know it." Focusing back on Mommy, he says thickly, "Katniss _willingly_ gave him all that information about her personal life. Do you know how vulnerable that makes her? I don't get why she would share that with him. She needs to be focused on winning the Games, and this could ruin her."

"Well….you're right, I guess." She frowns. "This isn't like her. Katniss wouldn't normally talk about something meaningful, especially with millions of people watching."

"Exactly!" Gale nearly shouts. "Revealing all of that personal stuff puts her in a bad position. He could use it against her at any time."

"How would you know?" Rory spits. "The two of them look like they're pretty cozy, wouldn't you say? Maybe they're just getting to know each other a little more before they _do the deed_." There's a wicked grin on his face, one that I know will incense Gale.

Predictably, it does.

He lurches up out of his seat, the chair creaking as it fights to stay intact. I scrabble to hold on so that I don't fall to the floor.

"How dare you. That boy is a _monster_!" Gale snaps. "Do you know where he's from? He's a _District 2 tribute_, Rory. That means he's a _Career_! Given the chance, he would slit Katniss's throat in a heartbeat, and how do you think Prim and her mother would feel about losing _another_ family member? And having to _watch it happen_? It would _destroy_ them." Rory's face pales at the mention of Prim in despair.

"I get that you're upset," Mommy says softly, concern in her usually mellow eyes. "But –"

"I'm not _upset_!" he cries. "I'm –" And here he pauses, his mouth snapping shut on the word. He won't admit what he's feeling, but someone has to. He can't keep his emotions bottled up. I've seen what it does to him.

"Scared," I whisper timidly. "You're scaled. It's okay, Gale."

His body immediately relaxes at the sound of my voice, although the look in his eyes is one of pure panic. He knows I've hit the nail right on the head. He's scared that Katniss will be killed. If that happens, he'll never get to speak with her again or play out in the streets with her or trade food at the markets with her or do anything else that matters with her. Because she'll be gone, and I don't think Gale could handle that. She's his best friend. In a way, they're like twins.; back here in District 12, one is _never_ without the other.

Gale's eyes moisten as he slumps back in his seat, defeated. Mommy lets out a quiet but relieved sigh, and Rory looks on impassively, probably still stuck on the thought of Prim sobbing for months on end like she did when Katniss's daddy died. I shudder as I think of those dark months.

"I just don't understand," he repeats, as if in a trance. "Why would she tell this boy anything about herself? In the end, it'll only hurt her." He pauses, drinks in the silence, then says, very quietly, "What is Cato playing at?"

I blink, wondering why I haven't noticed until now that Gale has only been referring to the District 2 tribute as "a monster" or simply "_him_". Something hits me then. Maybe…well, maybe my big brother is really only scared of what Cato will do to Katniss because he's _in love_ with her. And not _friend_-love. More like boy-girl _I-want-to-be-with-you-forever_ love.

The thought makes my head ache.

Mommy tiredly brings her hand to her temple, which she only does when she feels a nasty headache coming on. She sighs and looks at her oldest child with wearisome eyes. "The real question here isn't why that boy is trying to outmaneuver Katniss. You should be asking how Katniss plans on winning now that she has him right where she wants him."

Gale gives her a confused stare, but she just smiles knowingly.

"You're still just a young man, Gale. Don't forget that. There's still much you have yet to learn about women and how we manipulate the male population."

He blinks, and even though I don't clearly understand what they're talking about, I open my mouth and laugh, loud and long.

* * *

"We've been friends for most of our lives. Making sure our families survive is kinda the biggest thing we focused on back home." I swallow back the small lump that's beginning to form in my throat. I can't afford to get emotional. Not now.

The plan is to dish out little details about my life – a kernel of truth here, a seed of sentimentality there – just enough to get Cato interested. He needs to think that he's gaining the upper hand by obtaining this information. What he doesn't know is that I'm _choosing_ what to tell him and how much of it I want him to know. He probably figures we're having some kind of bonding moment, and he'll no doubt take advantage of his new knowledge soon enough. But for the time being, I've got him right where I want him.

He's captivated. Thoughtful.

Curious.

"When my name was called at the Reaping, my first thought was, _He'll take care of them_. Meaning my family, of course." I pause, clear my throat. "My district isn't very well-off like all the others."

He scoffs impatiently. "I know that. What do you think I am, an idiot?"

I decide not to respond to that. "I knew he would provide them with food and clothing, if need be. We'd made an agreement long ago that if one of us was chosen to go into the Games, the other would take care of their family. That's kinda how our whole relationship was. We took care of each other."

"You were really close." Cato says this with an expression I can't decipher.

I nod. "And in my dream, he…accused me of killing people…_many_ people. Then he said that he and his family, and I guess mine too, were next to die." I look away for a moment because this part of the story is true. No matter how much I want to distort and twist the truth, this part really needs to hit home. "He blamed me."

"And why would he do that?" Cato's leaning back against the wall of the Cornucopia now, his hands clasped behind his head. There's something in his eyes that tells me my answer is critical.

So maybe that's why I shrug. "How should I know? It's just my subconscious talking. And if it's not…well, then maybe I'm just that kind of person." The thought that I might be capable of committing multiple murders without remorse unsettles me.

Glancing over to the other side of our camp, I spot Clove. She's fast asleep and has probably been like that ever since I woke up flailing. But a seed of doubt catches me unaware. What if, by some rare chance, she's heard some of our conversation? Or, God forbid, _all_ of it? My fingers twitch, and I can't help but worry. What would she do with this sort of priceless information?

The answer is obvious: she would find some way to kill me with it.

"I'm going back to sleep now," I announce abruptly. Shifting to get all the cracks out of my sore muscles, I lay flat on my back and wait for Cato to move away.

Surprise, surprise. He doesn't.

"That's it?" he asks, his voice inflectionless.

"That's it," I deadpan. "Story-time is over."

He's quiet for a minute. "You're not going to tell me what happens next?"

_No, I'm not_, I think sadly. _Because there's nothing else to say_. "Maybe next time," I yawn instead, rolling onto my side.

He doesn't respond for so long that I eventually fall into a dreamless sleep. I only become briefly conscious once during the night, and that's because I hear something loud bang above me. Assuming it's one of the Gamemaker's impromptu thunderstorms, I settle down into my peaceful abyss, dreading the moment when I'll have to resurface.

That moment comes four hours later when I wake to a flash of heat and a heaviness around my middle. I blink, although the inside of the Cornucopia is still dusky with early morning sunlight, making it next to impossible to see. Sliding my hand up to my stomach, I reach for whatever must have fallen on me during the night and instead jerk my hand away.

Skin. Not only skin, but slim fingers. A hand.

This discovery is just taking shape in my mind when I realize that I'm no longer lying on the ugly green sleeping bag by myself. There's someone else with me, and it doesn't take long for my sluggish brain to make the appropriate connections.

Cato has his arms wrapped around me, and his shallow breath fans across the back of my neck as he sleeps.

* * *

**I'M GETTING SO EXCITED WRITING THESE CLIFFHANGERS and also, in case anyone didn't know - Posy is Gale's youngest sibling and only sister. There's Gale, Rory, then Vick (who wasn't mentioned) and 'lil Pose. I didn't want to write from Gale's POV, but the scene had to be set in the Hawthorne household and she seemed like the best candidate. **

**~REVIEW PLEASE I KNOW YOU WANT TO~**


	16. Chapter 16: Intimacy

**YOU WILL ALL LOVE THIS. THE MOMENT HAS COME. I hope it's written well because I tried my very best!**

* * *

I have to fight so excruciatingly hard against the urge to stiffen against such intimate contact. Every fiber of my being is suddenly and totally aware of where our bodies touch. His legs are brushing the backs of mine, his arms are wrapped around my mid-section, his chest is rising and falling against my stiff-as-a-board spine. My senses are now heightened, and I am hyperaware of every little movement he makes. I feel a trickle of sweat run down the back of my neck as my anxiety and fear threaten to explode within me. How do I get out of this position without waking Cato? How am I going to handle him if this was unintentional? And what am I going to say if it's not?

Swallowing, I shift ever-so-slightly away from him, hoping against hope that he's a deep sleeper. Of course, this line of thinking is completely irrational; someone like him has to be able to jump up and fight at a moment's notice. Right on cue, Cato stirs, his arms pulling me back to him. I hold in a scream, wondering if he's going to stab me in the throat for trying to escape. But then I blink, suddenly puzzled. Why is he doing this in the first place? What does he have to gain by…well, by _sleeping_ with me?

I shudder at the thought…and my cheeks actually turn red. That's what he's doing – no, what _we_ are doing; sleeping together. Whether I knowingly participated or not is beside the point. While I'm thinking of my next (probably unsuccessful) attempt to get away from Cato, a voice startles us both, essentially saving me from having to deal with Cato's wrath when he wakes up.

"Excuse me, am I interrupting something?" Clove's voice is silky smooth, and I can tell we're about to be in a heap of trouble. If I wasn't trapped by Cato, I would already be preparing myself for her inevitable attack.

Cato is up in an instant, his body poised to spring. I barely feel his arms unwinding from around my waist. But then, something unexpected happens: Cato loses his balance and stumbles backward, surprised to find Clove so close. He falls (and I shouldn't be as shocked as I am) on top of me. I let out a small cry of pain, and in the next instant Cato is rolling off me with unnatural speed. His body had barely brushed mine before spinning away.

Now on his stomach, but seemingly uninjured, he asks, "Are you hurt?" and it takes me a slow moment to realize he's talking to me.

I shake my head, though I know my arm will be bruised later. The boy weighs a _ton_. "I'm fine," I tell him. Then my eyes travel up to Clove, who looms above us.

She has a sickly sweet smile plastered on her face, and it immediately reminds me of a sadistic clown. Her fingers are twitching at her sides, and everything about her screams _enraged_. I can only hope that most of her anger is directed at her district partner.

"Good morning," she says softly, but through gritted teeth.

He sighs, irritated already. "Oh, good morning to you too, Clove. I hope _you_ had a nice, relaxing sleep." He shoots her a look.

"Unfortunately, I did not," she says slowly. "But then again, I didn't get to share it with anybody. Specifically, this District 12 bitch."

_Boom_. There it is. I cringe (slightly annoyed at the name-calling), and wait anxiously for a fight or screaming match to ensue. But Cato merely rolls his eyes. "Please, Clove. Don't be childish."

Her eyebrows inch upwards. "Oh, so that's what I am." Then her eyes narrow. "What are you playing at, Cato? You don't mess around with District 12." She eyes me up and down, her lips curling. "They're not worth it."

Wearily, I scoot backwards to the nearest wall of the Cornucopia. I need something secure behind me. Clove might attack me from the front, Cato may attack me from the side, and who knows what kind of monster can creep up behind me. With this backing me up, I can analyze the two of them as they shoot poisonous words at each other. I'm safely out of the way.

For the time being.

Cato smirks. "You jealous, Clove?"

Her wordless answer says it all. Out of nowhere, she snarls and lunges at him, shoving him flat on the ground. Her tiny fists beat at his chest, and I watch, open-mouthed, as he does nothing to stop her. Angry, bitter tears course down her cheeks, and she puts everything she has into hurting him. This reckless display of emotion is bewildering; I never would have guessed that Clove feels this way, especially about Cato, her district partner. Sure, tributes sometimes briefly hook up during the Games, but it never lasts longer than a few days. After all, they usually don't last that long themselves. But this girl seems above all that. She appears indomitable, awesome in her power. Her confidence is what makes others tremble as she draws near, throwing knives in hand. Breathing in sharply, I watch as Clove grabs Cato's neck with her tiny, child-like hands.

But then, she does something that makes my stomach roil nauseously: she leans down and aggressively kisses Cato smack on the lips. Without knowing why, I grow light-headed and shaky. Somehow finding my way to my feet, I steady myself against the metal wall and decide to take this opportunity to escape. Now is as good a time as any. Keeping my eyes averted, I stumble into the open field, my eyes still blurry. It takes a second or two for everything to take shape, and I squint in the harsh morning sunlight. As I hesitate and adjust to the outside world, I hear a scream from inside. A scream that can only belong to Clove.

Unwilling to ponder what this means, I leap towards the supply pile, grabbing my bow and measly four arrows as I fly past, and snatch up a bag of apples. It's not much, but at least I can guarantee I won't starve for a day or two. Slinging my bow onto my shoulder and holding the sack of apples against my chest like a newborn baby, I sprint for the forest. I'm nearing the edges of the field when I hear several loud bangs, followed by another scream, this one sounding more furious than scared. I can only imagine what's going on in there, but I don't allow my mind to wander in that direction.

I'm almost out of earshot when I hear Clove scream his name just as Cato screams mine.

Breathing raggedly out of fear, I dodge bushes and bent-over trees, hoping I can make it to a safe place before either one of them reaches me. I'm stumbling through lots of tangled underbrush when the sky darkens ominously and thunder starts rumbling in the distance. The Gamemakers must sense an opportunity to get rid of another tribute, and everyone knows they never miss a chance to enhance drama. Thunder booms overhead, so loud my ears ring once it peters out. Lightning flashes across the sky, and I can hear as it strikes a tree not too far away from where I am. My heart spikes with fear as a thought worms its way inside my head; what if the tribute the Gamemakers want to get rid of is…_me_? After all, the Girl on Fire has never been a favorite with them, and I bet they're wishing they disposed of me in the very beginning, during the Bloodbath.

It hasn't started to rain yet, though I know that when it does, it'll downpour. My head and heart pound with pain as I run deeper into the forest. I can't believe Clove kissed Cato! The people in District 2 must be going absolutely wild now. The thing is, I can't wrap my mind around the fact that Cato basically let it happen. I don't have an explanation as to why that bothers me so much; I just know that it does. As I'm thinking this, I see a flash of silver out of the corner of my eye. It's no more than twenty feet from me, and I don't allow myself to stop and think about who it could be. The answer, at this point, should be obvious. I throw myself to the ground as I'm still running and crawl to the base of a large oak.

Heart pounding, I rip open the sack of apples and clutch one in my hand. What I'm about to do is absurd, but it's my only option at this point. I don't want to hit him with an arrow (at least, not yet) but he can't catch me again. Not now that I've made it this far. Not to mention, he has Clove slobbering all over him...which leads me to ask; why does he still want me around?

No time to think of an answer – Cato's sword comes into my line of sight first, followed a second later by the man himself. It's started raining, nothing more than a drizzle, but I can see the water rippling along his skin. His chest is heaving, and his eyes look slightly wild. His hair drips with rainwater, making it much darker than the usually light blonde tones. The contrast with his clear blue eyes is hypnotizing, and I feel my breath catch.

And for some reason, this is what alerts him to my presence.

Even from the base of a tree twenty feet away, I can see his eyes darken. This frightens me, and I leap to my feet. He must be furious that he had to come all the way out here to chase me down…_again_. The hand clutching the apple shakes uncontrollably, and I have to concentrate hard to keep it still. Cato strides forward, maybe two or three paces, and just like that, he's ten feet away.

"Don't come any closer!" I warn, stepping to my right. If I can get all the way around this tree, and if I can distract Cato long enough for me to do so, there might be a chance that I can get out of here unharmed. A _slight_ chance.

"Why are you running?" he asks, and I'm surprised at how low his voice is. The rain begins to pick up, and I can sense that the forest animals around me are scattering back into their homes. It's pouring now, not quite a downpour, but my clothes are soaked through in seconds anyway.

I take a smaller step to the side, and now the oak tree is no longer behind me. If I want, I can probably start running, although I don't really have even a decent head-start. Cato would catch me in three strides.

"Why do you think?" I snap. "You'll kill me! Or she will."

His jaw tightens. "No, she won't. I've made sure of that."

My body freezes. What does he mean? Has he killed her? But no, that's only wishful thinking. They were kissing not five minutes ago. Cato isn't _that_ cruel. If he cares anything about the girl, he wouldn't have killed her. At least, I don't think he would've. Tiredly, I rub the side of my head. I'm confusing myself. I don't really know Cato at all, now do I? I have no way of knowing what he would do to his district partner. And why in the world do I care?

"Well, that doesn't guarantee that _you_ won't stab me or something," I say, sure I've caught him.

He merely shakes his head and takes a step closer.

"Stop!" I call, my body tensing. I step backward one, two, three paces, trying to maintain the distance between us. He can't get near me.

"Katniss," he calls, and the way he says my name makes me tremble. My heart dips in my chest, and I struggle to breathe steadily. "We're the only ones left. You have to stick with us if you want to win this."

"You don't care if I win or not," I say, trying to muster up a derisive laugh. "So don't even go there."

Without warning, he takes several quick steps forward, and I don't even think; I pull back my arm and throw the apple at him as hard as I can. It hits his shoulder, and the side that makes contact splits, spilling juice all down his front. For some reason, this makes me want to laugh, but I know it'll be more hysterical than amused, so I keep my mouth clamped tightly shut..

Cato looks completely taken aback. "What the hell?"

A giggle escapes me, and I find myself throwing two more apples at him before he can react. The second bounces off his leg, and the third barrels into his chest with an ugly-sounding _splat_. I can't help it; I laugh now, loud and long, and it comes out just as I thought it would – insane. The rest of the apples tumble to the ground, save for the one still grasped in my hand. I belatedly clap my free hand over my mouth, trying to keep the insanity locked inside me. And yet, I continue to laugh uncontrollably, in a gasping, sobbing, half-hysterical manner.

Cato watches me for a moment, his lips curled slightly, before he walks cautiously forward. I do nothing to stop him; in my current state, there's really nothing I can do. My watchfulness, my sense of self-preservation, has abandoned me. I am too far gone to worry about what he might do to me now.

He stops in front of me, maybe a foot away, and lifts his hand to touch the one covering my mouth. My laughs have diminished into hiccupping giggles, and although my eyes are watering, I can see what he's doing. He lightly traces a finger along my knuckles, my thumb, my pinkie, and finally over my other fingers. I'm mostly quiet now, stunned into silence. What's he doing? And why?

I don't understand. Who _is_ this boy?

My grey eyes are wide and glassy; I can see them reflected in Cato's waterfall-blue ones. He seems calm, and the tranquility surrounding him engulfs me as well. I feel my heart-rate return to normal, and my pulse steadies into a nice, even rhythm. I think Cato senses this because he carefully pulls my hand away from my mouth. He holds it in his own rough one. He takes a tiny step forward, almost nonchalantly. I respond by taking a step back. Again and again and again this happens, until my back comes up against a massive tree trunk.

"What are you doing?" I whisper.

He doesn't answer.

His hand is still gripping mine, but now he interlocks our fingers, and I don't resist. He takes another step forward, and since I have nowhere else to retreat back to, I have no choice but to let him. Our arms, our legs, our chests brush. I breathe out, he breathes in. I breathe in, he breathes out. Our breath intermingles invisibly, and I can…_almost_…taste him. My heart begins to pound again, loudly and unevenly. Wildly, I wonder what my breath smells like. Hopefully something good. Like wildflowers. Or cinnamon.

His gaze lowers to my lips, and it's like I can read his mind. His intent is clear. Slowly, like I'm moving through water, I raise my hand and push the apple defiantly against his chest. It's a distinctive separation, a symbolic barrier. _Do not cross this line_, the apple says. _There are boundaries and you must respect them_. But I know he won't. Cato isn't that kind of person. Just as I thought, he places his free hand over mine on the apple.

Slowly, he shakes his head. I almost whimper.

He pushes down on my hand, on the apple, and I hear it drop to the ground from very far away. My focus is now entirely locked on him; everything else seems light-years away. He's holding my hands, both of them now, and his gaze lands on my lips again. His blue eyes ignite like they're on fire. Slowly, slowly, he leans forward until our lips brush. My eyes are drooping against my will. I hear a strange noise, and I realize that Cato's gasping softly for breath. This brings warmth and color to my cheeks. I manage to fully open my eyes, and even though it's only for a split-second, Cato finds them with his own. They lock, and it's all over.

He brings his mouth down hard on mine.

His taste explodes inside me, just as I'm sure mine does inside him. His tongue flickers along my lips, then deeper into my mouth. Completely inexperienced with it all, I follow his lead. I feel my bow and arrows drop from my shoulder to my elbow to the ground. Cato wraps his one arm around my waist and brings his other to the back of my neck, where he pulls lightly, making my head dip back. He deepens the kiss, and I can feel everything inside him. His passion. His arrogance. His fear, anger, anxiety, confidence, aggression, confusion, satisfaction, wildness.

But overshadowing everything is his desire.

I cling to the front of his shirt, both of my hands pulling him closer, closer, closer. He melts against me, but I want him nearer than that. Cato surrounds me, encompasses me, keeping me safe and protected from the rest of the world. His muscles clench and unclench, ripple and smooth out beneath his shirt. His body hums in tune with mine. In the very back of his throat, he moans, and the sound makes my knees buckle.

But he holds me up, unwilling to let me go.

He breaks away, just for a moment, and I suck in my breath through swollen lips. Trailing a line of soft kisses down the side of my neck, his hands hold me tighter, and I know I'll have bruises all along my arms and back when I wake up tomorrow. A sigh escapes me, and I try and accept this new reality. It's impossible to believe. Cato, the monster from District 2, is kissing every inch of me. His hands are all over the place; first on my back, then clinging to my waist, then lost in my hair, which has come undone from its messy braid. He is everywhere. As he brings his mouth back up to mine, pressing our lips together so hard I'm afraid they'll crack from the pressure, I hear something that snaps me out of my desire-induced haze.

A cannon.

* * *

**EXCUSE ME WHILE I SOB WITH HAPPINESS**


End file.
